'JU&& 


DAISY 


y 

BY   THE  AUTHOR  OF 

'WIDE,  WIDE    WORLD,"   "QUEECHY,"   "WALKS  FROM 
EDEN,"   "HOUSE  OF  ISRAEL,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


TWO    VOLUMES  IN  ONE. 


PHILADELPHIA 
J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT   &    CO, 

1878. 


**" 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  CO., 

IB  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Eastern  District  of 
Pennsylvania. 


CONTENTS, 


I.  —  MlSS   PlNSHON 6 

II.  — MT  HOME 24 

III.— THE  MULTIPLICATION  TAMJB 43 

IV.  —  SEVEN  HUNDRED  PEOPLE 67 

V. IK   THE   KlTCHEK 97 

VI. — WINTER  AND  SUMMER 121 

VII. — SlNGLEHANDED    ........  155 

VIIL  —  EGYPTIAN  GLASS 170 

IX.  —  SHOPPING 190 

X.  — SCHOOL 211 

XL  — A  PLACE  IN  THE  WORLD  ......  235 

XII.  — FRENCH  DRESSES 252 

XIII.— GREY  COATS 284 

XIV.— YANKEES 307 

XV.— FORT  PUTNAM 332 

XVL  — HOPS 351 

XVII.  — OBEYING  ORDERS 370 

XVIII.  — SOUTH  AND  NORTH     .......  395 

XIX.  —  ENTERED  FOR  THE  WAB    ...  409 


M174960 


DAISY. 

CHAPTER    I. 

MISS    PINSHON. 

I  WANT  an  excuse  to  myself  for  writing  my  own  life ; 
an  excuse  for  the  indulgence  of  going  it  all  over  again, 
as  I  have  so  often  gone  over  bits.  It  has  not  been 
more  remarkable  than  thousands  of  others.  Yet  every 
life  has  in  it  a  thread  of  present  truth  and  possible 
glory.  Let  me  follow  out  the  truth  to  the  glory. 

The  first  bright  years  of  my  childhood  I  will  pass. 
They  were  childishly  bright.  They  lasted  till  my 
eleventh  summer.  Then  the  light  of  heavenly  truth 
was  woven  in  with  the  web  of  my  mortal  existence ; 
and  whatever  the  rest  of  the  web  has  been,  those 
golden  threads  have  always  run  through  it  all  the  rest 
of  the  way.  Just  as  I  reached  my  birthday  that 
summer  and  was  ten  years  old,  I  became  a  Christian. 

For  the  rest  of  that  summer  I  was  a  glad  child. 
The  brightness  of  those  days  is  a  treasure  safe  locked 
up  in  a  chamber  of  my  memory.  I  have  known  other 
glad  times  too  in  my  life ;  other  times  of  even  higher 
enjoyment.  But  among  all  the  dried  flowers  of  my 
memory,  there  is  not  one  that  keeps  a  fresher  perfume 
or  a  stronger  scent  of  its  life  than  this  one.  Those 
1*  5 


6  DAISY. 

were  the  days  without  cloud  ;  before  life  shadows  had 
begun  to  cast  their  blackness  over  the  landscape. 
And  even  though  such  shadows  do  go  as  well  as  come, 
and  leave  the  intervals  as  sun-lit  as  ever ;  yet,  after 
that  change  of  the  first  life  shadow  is  once  seen,  it  is 
impossible  to  forget  that  it  may  come  again  and 
darken  the  sun.  I  do  not  mean  that  the  days  of  that 
summer  were  absolutely  without  things  to  trouble  me  ; 
I  had  changes  of  light  and  shade ;  but  on  the  whole, 
nothing  that  did  not  heighten  the  light.  They  were 
pleasant  days  I  had  in  Juanita's  cottage  at  the  time 
when  my  ankle  was  broken ;  there  were  hours  of 
sweetness  with  crippled  Molly ;  and  it  was  simply 
delight  I  had  all  alone  with  my  pony  Loupe,  driving 
over  the  sunny  and  shady  roads,  free  to  do  as  I  liked 
and  go  where  I  liked.  And  how  I  enjo}red  studying 
English  history  with  my  cousin  Preston.  It  is  all 
stowed  away  in  my  heart,  as  fresh  and  sweet  as  at 
first.  I. will  not  pull  it  out  now.  The  change,  and  my 
first  real  life  shadow  came,  when  my  father  was  thrown 
from  his  horse  and  injured  his  head.  Then  the  doctors 
decided  he  must  go  abroad  and  travel,  and  mamma 
decided  it  was  best  that  I  should  go  to  Magnolia  with 
aunt  Gary  and  have  a  governess. 

There  is  no  pleasure  in  thinking  of  those  weeks. 
They  went  very  slowly,  and  yet  very  fast ;  while  I 
counted  every  minute  and  noted  every  step  in  the  prepa 
rations.  They  were  all  over  at  last ;  my  little  world  was 
gone  from  me  ;  and  I  was  left  alone  with  aunt  Gary. 

Her  preparations  had  been  made  too ;  and  the  day 
after  the  steamer  sailed  we  set  off  on  our  journey  to 
the  south.  I  do  not  know  much  about  that  journey. 
For  the  most  part  the  things  by  the  way  were  like 


MISS    PINSHO1T.  7 

objects  in  a  mist  to  me  and  no  more  clearly  discerned. 
Now  and  then  there  came  a  rift  in  the  mist ;  some 
thing  woke  me  up  out  of  my  sorrow-dream  ;  and  of 
those  points  and  of  what  struck  my  eyes  at  those 
minutes  I  have  a  most  intense  and  vivid  recollection.  I 
can  feel  yet  the  still  air  of  one  early  morning's  start, 
and  hear  the  talk  between  my  aunt  and  the  hotel 
people  about  the  luggage.  My  aunt  was  a  great 
traveller  and  wanted  no  one  to  help  her  or  manage 
for  her.  I  remember  acutely  a  beggar  who  spoke  to 
us  on  the  sidewalk  at  Washington.  We  staid  over  a 
few  days  in  Washington,  and  then  hurried  on ;  for 
when  she  was  on  the  road  my  aunt  Gary  lost  not  a 
minute.  We  went,  I  presume,  as  fast  as  we  could 
without  travelling  all  night ;  and  our  last  day's  jour 
ney  added  that  too. 

By  that  time  my  head  was  getting  steadied,  perhaps, 
from  the  grief  which  had  bewildered  it ;  or  grief  was 
settling  down  and  taking  its  proper  place  at  the  bottom 
of  my  heart,  leaving  the  surface  as  usual.  For  twelve 
hours  that  day  we  went  by  a  slow  railway  train  through 
a  country  of  weary  monotony.  Endless  forests  of  pine 
seemed  all  that  was  to  be  seen  ;  scarce  ever  a  village  ; 
here  and  there  a  miserable  clearing  and  forlorn-looking 
house ;  here  and  there  stoppages  of  a  few  minutes  to 
let  somebody  out  or  take  somebody  in  ;  once,  to  my 
great  surprise,  a  stop  of  rather  more  than  a  few  min 
utes  to  accommodate  a  lady  who  wanted  some  flowers 
gathered  for  her.  I  was  surprised  to  see  flowers  wild 
in  the  woods  at  that  time  of  year,  and  much  struck 
with  the  politeness  of  the  railway  train  that  was  willing 
to  delay  for  such  a  reason.  We  got  out  of  the  car 
for  dinner,  or  for  a  short  rest  at  dinner-time.  My 


DAISY. 

aunt  had  brought  her  lunch  in  a  basket.  Then  the 
forests  and  the  rumble  of  the  cars  began  again.  At 
one  time  the  pine  forests  were  exchanged  for  oak,  I 
remember  ;  after  that,  nothing  but  pine. 

It  was  late  in  the  day,  when  we  left  the  cars  at  one 
of  those  solitary  wayside  station  houses.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  look  and  feeling  of  the  place.  We  had  been 
for.  some  miles  going  through  a  region  of  swamp  or 
swampy  woods,  where  sometimes  the  rails  were  laid  on 
piles  in  the  water.  This  little  station  house  was  in  the 
midst  of  such  a  region.  The  woods  were  thick  and 
tangled  with  vines  everywhere  beyond  the  edge  of  the 
clearing ;  the  ground  was  wet  beneath  them  and  in 
places  shewed  standing  water.  There  was  scarcely  a 
clearing ;  the  forest  was  all  round  the  house  ;  with  only 
the  two  breaks  in  it  where  on  one  side  and  on  the 
other  the  iron  rail  track  ran  off  into  the  distance.  It 
was  a  lonely  place ;  almost  nobody  was  there  waiting 
for  the  train  ;  one  or  two  forlorn  coloured  people  and  a 
long  lank-looking  countryman,  were  all.  Except  what 
at  first  prevented  my  seeing  anything  else  ;  my  cousin 
Preston.  He  met  me  just  as  I  was  going  to  get  down 
from  the  car;  lifted  me  to  the  platform;  and  then 
with  his  looks  and  words  almost  broke  up  the  com 
posure  which  for  several  days  had  been  growing  upon 
me.  It  was  not  hardened  yet  to  bear  attacks.  I  was 
like  a  poor  shell-fish,  which  having  lost  one  coat  of 
armour  and  defence,  craves  a  place  of  hiding  and  shel 
ter  for  itself  until  its  new  coat  be  grown.  While  he 
was  begging  me  to  come  into  the  station  house  and 
rest,  I  stood  still  looking  up  the  long  line  of  railway 
by  which  we  had  come,  feeling  as  if  my  life  lay  at  the 
other  end  of  it,  out  of  sight  and  quite  beyond  reach. 


MISS    PINSHON.  9 

Yet  I  asked  him  not  to  call  me  "  poor"  Daisy.  I  was 
very  tired  and  I  suppose  my  nerves  not  very  steady. 
Preston  said  we  must  wait  at  that  place  for  another 
train ;  there  was  a  fork  in  the  road  beyond,  and  this 
train  would  not  go  the  right  way.  It  would  not  take 
us  to  Baytown.  So  he  had  me  into  the  station  house. 

It  wearied  me,  and  so  did  all  that  my  eyes  lighted 
upon,  strange  though  it  was.  The  bare  room,  not 
clean  ;  the  board  partition,  with  swinging  doors,  behind 
which,  Preston  said,  were  the  cook  and  the  baker ;  the 
untidy  waiting  girls  that  came  and  went,  with  scant 
gowns  and  coarse  shoes  and  no  thread  of  white  collar 
to  relieve  the  dusky  throat  and  head  rising  out  of  the 
dark  gown  ;  and  no  apron  at  all.  Preston  did  what  tie 
could.  He  sent  away  the  girls  with  their  tra}^s  of 
eatables  ;  he  had  a  table  pulled  out  from  the  wall  and 
wiped  off ;  and  then  he  ordered  a  supper  of  eggs  and 
johnny  cake  and  all  sorts  of  things.  But  I  could  not 
eat.  As  soon  as  supper  was  over  I  went  out  on  the 
platform  to  watch  the  long  lines  of  railway  running 
off  through  the  forest,  and  wait  for  the  coming  train. 
The  evening  fell  while  we  looked  ;  the  train  was  late  ; 
and  at  last  when  it  came  I  could  only  know  it  in  the 
distance  by  the  red  spark  of  its  locomotive  gleaming 
like  a  firefly. 

It  was  a  freight  train  ;  there  was  but  one  passenger 
car,  and  that  was  full.  We  got  seats  with  difficulty, 
and  apart  from  each  other.  I  hardly  know  whether 
that,  or  anything,  could  have  made  me  more  forlorn. 
I  was  already  stiff  and  weary  with  the  twelve  hours  of 
travelling  we  had  gone  through  that  day  ;  inexpressi 
bly  weary  in  heart.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  not 
endure  long  the  rumble  and  the  jar  and  the  closeness 


10  DAISY. 

of  this  last  car.  The  passengers  too  had  habits  which 
made  me  draw  my  clothes  as  tight  around  me  as  I 
could,  and  shrink  away  mentally  into  the  smallest 
compass  possible.  J  had  noticed  the  like  to  be  sure 
ever  since  we  left  Washington ;  but  to-night,  in  my 
weary,  faint,  and  tired-out  state  of  mind  and  body, 
every  unseemly  sight  or  sound  struck  my  nerves  with 
a  sense  of  pain  that  was  hardly  endurable.  I  wondered 
if  the  train  would  go  on  all  night ;  it  went  very  slowly. 
And  I  noticed  that  nobody  seemed  impatient  or  had  the 
air  of  expecting  that  it  would  soon  find  its  journey's  end. 
I  felt  as  if  I  could  not  bear  it  many  half  hours.  My 
next  neighbour  was  a  fat,  good-natured  old  lady,  who 
nEher  made  matters  worse  by  putting  her  arm  round 
me  and  hugging  me  up,  and  begging  me  to  make  a  pil 
low  of  her  and  go  to  sleep.  My  nerves  were  twitching 
with  impatience  and  the  desire  for  relief;  when  suddenly 
the  thought  came  to  me  that  I  might  please  the  Lord 
by  being  patient.  I  remember  what  a  lull  the  thought 
of  Him  brought ;  and  yet  how  difficult  it  was  not  to 
be  impatient,  till  I  fixed  my  mind  on  some  Bible 
words,  —  they  were  the  words  of  the  twenty-third 
psalm,  —  and  began  to  think  and  pray  them  over.  So 
good  they  were,  that  by  and  by  they  rested  me.  I 
dropped  asleep  and  forgot  my  aches  and  weariness 
until  the  train  arrived  at  Bay  town. 

They  took  me  to  a  hotel  then,  and  put  me  to  bed,  and 
I  did  not  get  up  for  several  days.  I  must  have  been 
feverish ;  for  my  fancies  wandered  incessantly  in  un 
known  places  with  papa,  in  regions  of  the  old  world ; 
and  sometimes,  I  think,  took  both  him  and  myself  to 
rest  and  home  where  wanderings  are  over.  After  a  few 
days  this  passed  away.  I  was  able  to  come  down  stairs  ; 


MISS    PINS  HON.  11 

and  both  Preston  and  his  mother  did  their  best  to  take 
good  care  of  rne.  Especially  Preston.  He  brought  me 
books,  and  fruit  and  birds  to  tempt  me  to  eat ;  and 
was  my  kind  and  constant  companion  when  his  mother 
was  out,  and  indeed  when  she  was  in,  too.  So  I  got 
better,  by  the  help  of  oranges  and  rice-birds.  I  could 
have  got  better  faster,  but  for  my  dread  of  a  governess 
which  wras  hanging  over  me.  I  heard  nothing  about 
her,  and  could  not  bear  to  ask.  One  day  Preston 
brought  the  matter  up  and  asked  if  Daisy  was  going 
to  have  a  schoolmistress? 

4  Certainly,*  my  aunt  Gary  said.  '  She  must  be 
educated,  you  know/ 

4  /  don't  know,'  said  Preston ;  4  but  if  they  say  so, 
I  suppose  she  must.  Who  is  it  to  be,  mamma?' 

'  You  do  not  know  anything  about  it,'  said  aunt 
Gary.  '  If  my  son  was  going  to  marry  the  greatest 
heiress  in  the  State  —  and  she  is  very  nearly  that ; 
goodness !  I  did  not  see  you  were  there,  Daisy,  my 
dear  ;  but  it  makes  no  difference  ;  —  I  should  think  it 
proper  that  she  should  be  educated.' 

'I  can't  see  what  her  being  an  heiress  should  have  to 
do  with  it,'  said  Preston,  —  4  except  rather  to  make  it 
unnecessary  as  well  as  a  bore.  Who  is  it,  mamma?' 

1 1  have  recommended  Miss  Pinshon.' 

k  O  then  it  is  not  fixed  yet.' 

4  Yes,  it  is  fixed.  Miss  Pinshon  is  coming  as  soon 
as. we  get  to  Magnolia.' 

'  I'll  be  off  before  that,'  said  Preston.  '  Who  is  Miss 
Pinshon  ? ' 

4  How  should  you  know  ?  She  has  lived  at  Jessa 
mine  Bank,  —  educated  the  Dalzell  girls.* 

4  What  sort  of  a  person,  mamma? ' 


12  DAISY. 

'  What  sort  of  a  person  ? '  said  my  aunt  Gary  ;  '  why, 
a  governess  sort  of  person.  What  sort  should  she 
be?' 

'Any  other  sort  in  the  world/  said  Preston,  'for 
my  money.  That  is  just  the  sort  to  worry  poor  little 
Daisy  out  of  her  life.' 

'You  are  a  foolish  boy!'  said  aunt  Gary.  'Of 
course,  if  you  fill  Daisy's  head  with  notions,  she  will 
not  get  them  out  again.  If  you  have  anything  of  that 
sort  to  say,  you  had  better  say  it  where  she  will  not 
hear.' 

'  Daisy  has  eyes  —  and  a  head,'  said  Preston. 

As  soon  as  I  was  able  for  it  Preston  took  me  out  for 
short  walks  ;  and  as  I  grew  stronger  he  made  the  walks 
longer.  The  city  was  a  strange  place  to  me  ;  very  un 
like  New  York ;  there  was  much  to  see  and  many  a 
story  to  hear ;  and  Preston  and  I  enjoyed  ourselves. 
Aunt  Gary  was  busy  making  visits,  I  think.  There 
was  a  beautiful  walk  by  the  sea  which  I  liked  best  of 
all ;  and  when  it  was  not  too  cold  my  greatest  pleasure 
was  to  sit  there  looking  over  the  dark  waters  and 
sending  my  whole  soul  across  them  to  that  unknown 
spot  where  my  father  and  mother  were.  '  Home,'  that 
spot  was  to  me.  Preston  did  not  know  what  I  liked 
the  Esplanade  for;  he  sometimes  laughed  at  me  for 
being  poetical  and  meditative  ;  when  I  was  only  send 
ing  my  heart  over  the  water.  But  he  was  glad  to 
please  me  in  all  that  he  could ;  and  whenever  it  was 
not  too  cold,  our  walks  always  took  me  there. 

One  day,  sitting  there,  I  remember  we  had  a  great 
argument  about  studying.  Preston  began  with  sa}dng 
that  I  must  not  mind  this  governess  that  was  com 
ing,  nor  do  anything  she  bade  me  unless  I  liked  it. 


MISS    PINS  HON.  13 

As  I  gave  him  no  answer,  he  repeated  what  he  had 
said. 

4  You  know,  Daisy,  you  are  not  obliged  to  care  what 
she  thinks.' 

I  said  I  thought  I  was. 

4  What  for?  '  said  Preston. 

4 1  have  a  great  deal  to  learn,  you  know/  I  said, 
feeling  it  very  gravely  indeed  in  my  little  heart. 

4  What  do  you  want  to  know  so  much?'  said  Preston. 

I  said,  everything.    I  was  very  ignorant. 

1  You  are  no  such  thing,'  said  Preston.  '  Your  head 
is  full  this  minute.  I  think  you  have  about  as  much 
knowledge  as  is  good  for  you.  I  mean  to  take  care 
that  you  do  not  get  too  much.' 

1  O  Preston,'  said  I,  '  that  is  very  wrong.  I  have 
not  any  knowledge  scarcely.' 

4  There  is  no  occasion,'  said  Preston  stoutly.  4 1 
hate  learned  women.' 

4  Don't  you  like  to  learn  things  ? ' 

4  That's  another  matter,'  said  he.  4  A  man  must  know 
things,  or  he  can't  get  along.  Women  are  different.' 

4  But  I  think  it  is  nice  to  know  things  too,'  said  I. 
4 1  don't  see  how  it  is  different.' 

4  Why,  a  woman  need  not  be  a  lawyer,  or  a  doctor, 
or  a  professor,'  said  Preston ;  4  all  she  need  do,  is  to 
have  good  sense  and  dress  herself  nicely/ 

4  Is  dressing  so  important?'  said  I,  with  a  new  light 
breaking  over  me. 

4  Certainly.  Ribbands  of  the  wrong  colour  will  half 
kill  a  woman.  And  I  have  heard  aunt  Randolph  say 
that  a  particular  lady  was  ruined  by  her  gloves.' 

4  Ruined  by  her  gloves  i '  said  I.  4  Did  she  buy  so 
many  ? ' 

2 


14  DAISY. 

Preston  went  into  such  a  laugh  at  that,  I  had  to 
wait  some  time  before  I  could  go  on.  I  saw  I  had 
made  some  mistake,  and  I  would  not  renew  that  sub 
ject. 

'Do  you  mean  to  be  anything  of  that  sort?*  I  said, 
with  some  want  of  connection. 

4  What  sort  ?  Ruined  by  my  gloves  ?  Not  if  I  know 
it.' 

4  No,  no !  I  mean,  a  lawyer  or  a  doctor  or  a  pro 
fessor?' 

4 1  should  think  not ! '  said  Preston,  with  a  more  em 
phatic  denial. 

4  Then,  what  are  you  studying  for  ? ' 

4  Because,  as  I  told  you,  Daisy,  a  man  must  know 
things,  or  he  cannot  get  on  in  the  world.' 

I  pondered  the  matter,  and  then  I  said,  I  should 
think  good  sense  would  make  a  woman  study  too.  I 
did  not  see  the  difference.  4  Besides,  Preston,'  I  said, 
4  if  she  didn't,  they  would  not  be  equal.' 

4  Equal ! '  cried  Preston.  4  Equal !  O  Daisy,  }*ou 
ought  to  have  lived  in  some  old  times.  You  are  two 
hundred  years  old,  at  least.  Now  jion't  go  to  study 
ing  that,  but  come  home.  You  have  sat  here  long 
enougli.' 

It  was  my  last  hour  of  freedom.  Perhaps  for  that 
reason  I  remember  every  minute  so  distinctly.  On 
our  way  home  we  met  a  negro  funeral.  I  stopped  to 
look  at  it.  Something,  I  do  not  know  what,  in  the 
long  line  of  dark  figures,  orderly  and  even  stately  in 
their  demeanour,  the  white  dresses  of  the  women,  the 
peculiar  faces  of  men  and  women  both,  fascinated  my 
eyes.  Preston  exclaimed  at  me  again.  It  was  the 
commonest  sight  in  the  world,  he  said.  It  was  their 


MISS    PINS  RON.  15 

pride  to  have  a  grand  funeral.  I  asked  if  this  was  a 
grand  funeral.  Preston  said  '  pretty  well ;  there  must 
be  several  hundred  of  them  and  they  were  well  dressed/ 
And  then  he  grew  impatient  and  hurried  me  on.  But 
I  was  thinking  ;  and  before  we  got  to.  the  hotel  where 
we  lodged,  I  asked  Preston  if  there  were  many  col 
oured  people  at  Magnolia. 

'Lots  of  them/  he  said.  'There  isn't  anything 
else/ 

'Preston,'  I  said  presently,  'I  want  to  buy  some 
candy  somewhere/ 

Preston  was  very  much  pleased,  I  believe,  thinking 
that  my  thoughts  had  quite  left  the  current  of  sober 
things.  He  took  me  to  a  famous  confectioner's ;  and 
there  I  bought  sweet  things  till  my  little  stock  of 
money  was  all  gone. 

'No  more  funds?'  said  Preston.  'Nevermind, — 
go  on,  and  I'll  help  you.  Why  I  never  knew  you 
liked  sugarplums  so  much.  What  next?  burnt  al 
monds  ?  this  is  good,  Daisy,  —  this  confection  of  roses. 
But  you  must  take  all  this  sugar  in  small  doses,  or  I 
am  afraid  it  wouldn't  be  just  beneficial/ 

'  O  Preston ! '  I  said,  — '  I  do  not  mean  to  eat  all 
this  myself/ 

'  Are  you  going  to  propitiate  Miss  Pinshon  with  it  ? 
I  have  a  presentiment  that  sweets  wont  sweeten  her, 
Daisy/ 

'  I  don't  know  what  "  propitiate  "  means,'  I  said  sigh 
ing.  '  I  will  not  take  the  almonds,  Preston/ 

But  he  was  determined  I  should ;  and  to  the  al 
monds  he  added  a  quantity  of  the  delicate  confection 
he  spoke  of,  which  I  had  thought  too  delicate  and 
costly  for  the  uses  I  purposed  ;  and  after  the  rose  he 


16  V  AllS  I. 

ordered  candied  fruits ;  till  a  great  package  of  varie 
ties  was  made  up.  Preston  paid  for  them  —  I  could 
not  help  it  —  and  desired  them  sent  home  ;  but  I  was 
bent  on  taking  the  package  myself.  Preston  would 
not  let  me  do  that,  so  he  carried  it ;  which  was  a  much 
more  serious  token  of  kindness,  in  him,  than  footing 
the  bill.  It  was  but  a  little  way,  however,  to  the 
hotel.  We  were  in  the  hall,  and  I  was  just  taking  my 
sugars  from  Preston  to  carry  them  upstairs,  when  I 
heard  aunt  Gary  call  my  name  from  the  parlour.  In 
stinctively,  I  cannot  tell  how,  I  knew  from  her  tone 
what  she  wanted  me  for.  I  put  back  the  package  in 
Preston's  hands,  and  walked  in  ;  my  play  over. 

How  well  I  knew  my  play  was  over,  when  I  saw  my 
governess.  She  was  sitting  by  my  aunt  on  the  sofa. 
Quite  different  from  what  I  had  expected,  so  different 
that  I  walked  up  to  her  in  a  maze,  and  yet  seemed  to 
recognize  in  that  first  view  all  that  was  coming  after. 
Probably  that  is  fancy ;  but  it  seems  to  me  now  that 
all  I  ever  knew  or  felt  about  Miss  Pinshon  in  the  years 
that  followed,  was  duly  begun  and  betokened  in  those 
first  five  minutes.  She  was  a  young-looking  lady, 
younger-looking  than  she  was.  She  had  a  dark,  rich 
complexion,  and  a  face  that  I  suppose  would  have 
been  called  handsome  ;  it  was  never  handsome  to  me. 
Long  black  curls  on  each  side  of  her  face,  and  large 
black  eyes,  were  the  features  that  first  struck  one; 
but  I  immediately  decided  that  Miss  Pinshon  was  not 
born  a  lady.  I  do  not  mean  that  I  think  blood  and 
breeding  are  unseverable ;  or  that  half  a  dozen  lady 
ancestors  in  a  direct  line  secure  the  character  to  the 
seventh  in  descent ;  though  they  do  often  secure  the 


MISS  PINSHON:  17 

look  of  it ;  nevertheless,  ladies  are  born  who  never 
know  all  their  lives  how  to  make  a  curtsey,  and  curt 
seys  are  made  with  infinite  grace  by  those  who  have 
nothing  of  a  lady  beyond  the  trappings.  I  never  saw 
Miss  Pinshon  do  a  rude  or  an  awkward  thing,  that  I 
remember  ;  nor  one  which  changed  my  first  mind  about 
her.  She  was  handsomely  dressed  ;  but  there  again  I 
felt  the  same  want.  Miss  Pinshon's  dresses  made  me 
think  always  of  the  mercer's  counter  and  the  dress 
maker's  shop.  My  mother's  robes  always  seemed  part 
of  her  own  self;  and  so  in  a  certain  true  sense  they 
were. 

My  aunt  introduced  me.  Miss  Pinshon  studied  me. 
Her  first  remark  was  that  I  looked  very  young.  My 
aunt  excused  that,  on  the  ground  of  my  having  been 
always  a  delicate  child.  Miss  Pinshon  observed 
further  that  the  way  I  wore  my  hair  produced  part  of 
the  effect.  My  aunt  explained  that  to  be  my  father's 
and  mother's  fancy ;  and  agreed  that  she  thought 
cropped  heads  were  always  ungraceful.  If  my  hair 
were  allowed  to  fall  in  ringlets  on  my  neck,  I  would 
look  very  different.  Miss  Pinshon  next  inquired  how 
much  I  knew  ?  turning  her  great  black  eyes  from  me 
to  aunt  Gary.  My  aunt  declared  she  could  not  tell ; 
delicate  health  had  also  here  interfered ;  and  she  ap 
pealed  to  me  to  say  what  knowledge  I  was  possessed 
of.  I  could  not  answer.  I  could  not  say.  It  seemed 
to  me  I  had  not  learned  anything.  Then  Preston 
spoke  for  me. 

4  Modesty  is  apt  to  be  silent  on  its  own  merits,'  he 
said.     ;  My  cousin  has  learned  the  usual  rudiments  ; 
and  in  addition  to  those  the  art  of  driving.' 
2* 


18  DAISY. 

'  Of  what  9  What  did  you  say  ? '  inquired  my  gov 
erness. 

4  Of  driving,  ma'am.  Daisy  is  an  excellent  whip, 
for  her  years  and  strength.' 

Miss  Pinshon  turned  to  Preston's  mother.  My 
aunt  confirmed  and  enlarged  the  statement,  again 
throwing  the  blame  on  my  father  and  mother.  For 
herself,  she  always  thought  it  very  dangerous  for  a 
little  girl  like  me  to  go  about  the  country  in  a  pony 
chaise  all  alone.  Miss  Pinshon's  eyes  could  not  be 
said  to  express  anything,  but  to  my  fancy  they  con 
cealed  a  good  deal.  She  remarked  that  the  roads 
were  easy. 

4  O  it  was  not  here/  said  my  aunt ;  4  it  was  at  the 
North,  where  the  roads  are  not  like  our  pine  forests. 
However,  the  roads  were  not  dangerous  there,  that  I 
know  of;  not  for  anybody  but  a  child.  But  horses 
and  carriages  are  always  dangerous/ 

Miss  Pinshon  next  applied  herself  to  me.  What 
did  I  know?  'beside  this  whip  accomplishment,'  as 
she  said.  I  was  tongue-tied.  It  did  not  seem  to  me 
that  I  knew  anything.  At  last  I  said  so.  Preston 
exclaimed.  I  looked  at  him  to  beg  him  to  be  still ; 
and  I  remember  how  he  smiled  at  me. 

4  You  can  read,  I  suppose?'  my  governess  went  on. 

4  Yes,  ma'am.' 

4  And  write,  I  suppose  ? ' 

4 1  do  not  think  you  would  say  I  know  how  to  write,' 
I  answered.  4 1  cannot  do  it  at  all  well ;  and  it  takes 
me  a  long  time.' 

4  Come  back  to  the  driving,  Daisy/  said  Preston. 
4  That  is  one  thing  you  do  know.  And  English  his 
tory,  I  will  bear  witness.' 


mss  piNsnoy.  19 


*  What    have  you   got  there,  Preston?'    my   aunt 
asked. 

4  Some  hoarhound  drops,  mamma.' 

1  You  haven't  a  sore  throat?'  she  asked  eagerly. 
4  No,  ma'am  —  not  just  now,  but  I  had  yesterday  ; 
and  I  thought  I  would  be  provided.' 

4  You  seem  provided  for  a  long  time  —  '  Miss  Pin- 
shon  remarked. 

4  Can't  get  anything  up  at  Magnolia  —  except  rice,' 
said  Preston,  after  making  the  lady  a  bow  which  did 
not  promise  good  fellowship.  '  You  must  take  with 
you  what  you  are  likely  to  want  there.' 

4  You  will  not  want  all  that,'  said  his  mother. 

4No,  ma'am,  I  hope  not,'  said  Preston  looking  at  his 
package  demurely.  '  Old  uncle  Lot,  you  know,  always 
has  a  cough  ;  and  I  purpose  delighting  him  with  some 
of  my  purchases.  I  will  go  and  put  them  away.' 

*  Old  uncle  Lot  !  '  my  aunt  repeated.     4  What  uncle 
Lot  ?  I  did  not  know  you  had  been  enough  at  Magno 
lia  to  get  the  servants'  names.     But  I  don't  remember 
any  uncle  Lot.' 

Preston  turned  to  leave  the  room  with  his  candy, 
and  in  turning  gave  me  a  look  of  such  supreme  fun 
and  mischief  that  at  another  time  I  could  hardly  have 
helped  laughing.  But  Miss  Pinshon  was  asking  me 
if  I  understood  arithmetic  ? 

4  1  think  —  I  know  very  little  about  it,'  I  said  hesi 
tating.  4  1  can  do  a  sum.' 

4  In  what?' 

4  On  the  slate,  ma'am.' 

4  Yes,  but  in  what?' 

4  1  don't  know,  ma'ain  —  it  is  adding  up  the  col 
umns.' 


20  DAISY. 

'  O,  in  addition  then.    Do  you  know  the  multiplica 
tion  and  division  tables  ? ' 
4  No,  ma'am.' 

*  Go  and  get  off  your  things,  and  then  come  back  to 
me  ;  and  I  will  have  some  more  talk  with  you/ 

I  remember  to  this  day  how  heavily  my  feet  went  up 
the  stair.  I  was  not  very  strong  yet  in  body,  and  now 
the  strength  seemed  to  have  gone  out  of  my  heart. 

*  I  declare/  said  Preston,  who  waited  for  me  on  the 
landing,  *  she  falls  into  position  easy !     Does  she  think 
she  is  going  to  take  that  tone  with  you  ? ' 

I  made  no  answer.  Preston  followed  me  into  my 
room. 

4 1  won't  have  it,  little  Daisy.  Nobody  shall  be 
mistress  at  Magnolia  but  you.  This  woman  shall  not. 
See,  Daisy  —  I  am  going  to  put  these  things  in  my 
trunk  for  you,  until  we  get  where  you  want  them. 
That  will  be  safe.' 

I  thanked  him. 

4  What  are  you  going  to  do  now  ? ' 

*  I  am  going  down  stairs,  as  soon  as  I  am  ready.' 

*  Do  you  expect  to  be  under  all  the  commands  this 
High  Mightiness  may  think  proper  to  lay  upon  you  ? ' 

I  begged  him  to  be  still  and  leave  me. 

*  She  will  turn  you  into  stone  ! '  he  exclaimed.     *  She 
is  a  regular  Gorgon,  with  those  heavy  eyes  of  hers.     I 
never  saw  such  eyes.     I  believe  she  would  petrify  me 
if  I  had  to  bear  them.     Don't  you  give  Medusa  one  of 
those  sweet  almonds,  Daisy,  —  not  one,  do  you  hear? ' 

I  heard  too  well.  I  faced  round  upon  him  and 
begged  him  to  remember  that  it  was  my  mother  I  must 
obey  in  Miss  Pinshon's  orders  ;  and  said  that  he  must 
not  talk  to  me.  Whereupon  Preston  threw  down  his 


MISS  piNsxoy.  21 


candies,  and  pulled  ray  cloak  out  of  my  unsteady 
hands,  and  locked  his  arms  about  me  ;  kissing  me  and 
lamenting  over  me  that  it  was  '  too  bad/  I  tried  to 
keep  my  self-command  ;  but  the  end  was  a  great  burst 
of  tears  ;  and  I  went  down  to  Miss  Pinshon  with  red 
eyes  and  at  a  disadvantage.  I  think  Preston  was 
pleased. 

I  had  need  of  all  my  quiet  and  self-command.  My 
governess  stretched  out  her  hand,  drew  me  to  her  side 
and  kissed  me  ;  then  with  the  other  hand  went  on  to 
arrange  the  ruffle  round  my  neck,  stroking  it  and  pull 
ing  it  into  order,  and  even  taking  out  a  little  bit  of  a 
pin  I  wore,  and  putting  it  in  again  to  suit  herself.  It 
annoyed  me  excessively.  I  knew  all  was  right  about 
my  ruffle  and  pin  ;  I  never  left  them  carelessly  ar 
ranged  ;  no  fingers  but  mamma's  had  ever  dared  to 
meddle  with  them  before.  But  Miss  Pinshon  arranged 
the  ruffle  and  the  pin,  and  still  holding  me,  looked  in 
my  face  with  those  eyes  of  hers.  I  began  to  feel  that 
they  were  '  heavy.'  They  did  not  waver.  They  did 
not  seem  to  wink,  like  other  eyes.  They  bore  down 
upon  my  face  with  a  steady  power,  that  was  not  bright 
but  ponderous.  Her  first  question  was,  whether  I  was 
a  good  girl  ? 

I  could  not  tell  how  to  answer.  My  aunt  answered 
for  me,  that  she  believed  Daisy  meant  to  be  a  good 
girl,  though  she  liked  to  have  her  own  way. 

Miss  Pinshon  ordered  me  to  bring  up  a  chair  and 
sit  down  ;  and  then  asked  if  I  knew  anything  about 
mathematics  ;  told  me  it  was  the  science  of  quantity  ; 
remarked  to  my  aunt  that  it  was  the  very  best  study 
for  teaching  children  to  think,  and  that  she  always 


22  DAISY. 

gave  them  a  great  deal  of  it  in  the  first  years  of  their 
pupilage.  l  It  puts  the  mind  in  order,'  the  black-eyed 
lady  went  on :  *  and  other  things  come  so  easily  after 
it.  Daisy,  do  you  know  what  I  mean  by  "  quantity  "  ?  ' 

I  knew  what  /  meant  by  quantity ;  but  whether  the 
English  language  had  anything  in  common  for  Miss 
Pinshon  and  me,  I  had  great  doubts.  I  hesitated. 

'  I  always  teach  my  little  girls  to  answer  promptly 
when  they  are  asked  anything.  I  notice  that  you  do 
not  answer  promptly.  You  can  always  tell  whether 
you  know  a  thing  or  whether  you  do  not.' 

I  was  not  so  sure  of  that.  Miss  Pinshon  desired  me 
now  to  repeat  the  multiplication  table.  Here  at  least 
there  was  certainty.  I  had  never  'learned  it. 

4  It  appears  to  me,'  said  my  governess,  '  you  have 
done  very  little  with  the  first  ten  years  of  your  life. 
Tt  gives  you  a  great  deal  to  do  for  the  next  ten.' 

4  Health  has  prevented  her  applying  to  her  studies,' 
said  my  aunt. 

1  The  want  of  health.  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  I  hope 
Daisy  will  be  very  well  now,  for  we  must  make  up  for 
lost  time.' 

L I  do  not  suppose  so  much  time  need  have  been 
lost,'  said  my  aunt ;  '  but  parents  are  easily  alarmed, 
you  know ;  they  think  of  nothing  but  one  thing.' 

So  now  there  was  nobody  about  me  who  would  be 
easily  alarmed.  I  took  the  full  force  of  that. 

4  Of  course,'  said  Miss  Pinshon,  4 1  shall  have  a  care 
ful  regard  to  her  health.  Nothing  can  be  done  without 
that.  I  shall  take  her  out  regularly  to  walk  with  me, 
and  see  that  she  does  not  expose  herself  in  any  way. 
Study  is  no  hindrance  to  health  ;  learning  has  no  ma- 


MISS 

levolent  effect  upon  the  body.     I  think  people  often 
get  sick  for  want  of  something  to  think  of.' 

How  sure  I  felt,  as  I  went  up  to  bed  that  night,  that 
no  such  easy  cause  of  sickness  would  be  mine  for  long 
years  to  come  I 


24  DAISY. 


CHAPTER    II. 

MY    HOME. 

THE  next  day  we  were  to  go  to  Magnolia.  It  was  a 
better  day  than  I  expected.  Preston  kept  me  with 
him,  away  from  aunt  Gary  and  my  governess ;  who 
seemed  to  have  a  very  comfortable  time  together. 
Magnolia  lay  some  miles  inland,  up  a  small  stream  or 
inlet  called  the  Sands  river  ;  the  banks  of  which  were 
studded  with  gentlemen's  houses.  The  houses  were  at 
large  distances  from  one  another,  miles  of  plantation 
often  tying  between.  We  went  by  a  small  steamer 
which  plied  up  and  down  the  river ;  it  paddled  along 
slowly,  made  a  good  many  landings,  and  kept  us  on 
board  thus  a  great  part  of  the  day. 

At  last  Preston  pointed  out  to  me  a  little  wooden 
pier  or  jetty  ahead,  which  he  said  was  my  landing ;  and 
the  steamer  soon  drew  up  to  it.  I  could  see  only  a 
broken  bank,  fifteen  feet  high,  stretching  all  along  the 
shore.  However,  a  few  steps  brought  us  to  a  receding 
level  bit  of  ground,  where  there  was  a  break  in  the 
bank;  the  shore  fell  in  a  little,  and  a  wooded  dell 
sloped  back  from  the  river.  A  carriage  and  servants 
were  waiting  here. 

Preston  and  I  had  arranged  that  we  would  walk  up 
and  let  the  ladies  ride.  But  as  soon  as  they  had  taken 
their  places  I  heard  myself  called.  We  declared  our 


MY    HOME.  25 

purpose,  Preston  and  I ;  but  Miss  Pinshon  said  the 
ground  was  damp  and  she  preferred  I  should  ride ;  and 
ordered  me  in.  I  obeyed,  bitterly  disappointed ;  so 
much  disappointed  that  I  had  the  utmost  trouble  not 
to  let  it  be  seen.  For  a  little  while  I  did  not  know 
what  we  were  passing.  Then  curiosity  recovered  it 
self.  The  carriage  was  slowly  making  its  way  up  a 
rough  road.  On  each  side  the  wooded  banks  of  the 
dell  shut  us  in  ;  and  these  banks  seemed  to  slope  up 
ward  as  well  as  the  road,  for  though  we  mounted  and 
mounted,  the  sides  of  the  dell  grew  no  lower.  After  a 
little,  then,  the  hollow  of  the  dell  began  to  grow  wider, 
and  its  sides  softly  shelving  down ;  and  through  the 
trees  on  our  left  we  could  see  a  house,  standing  high 
above  us,  but  on  ground  which  sloped  towards  the  dell, 
which  rose  and  widened  and  spread  out  to  meet  it. 
This  sloping  ground  was  studded  with  magnificent  live 
oaks  ;  each  holding  its  place  in  independent  majesty, 
making  no  interference  with  the  growth  of  the  rest. 
Some  of  these  trees  had  a  girth  that  half  a  dozen  men 
with  their  arms  outstretched  in  a  circle  could  not  span  ; 
they  were  green  in  spite  of  the  winter ;  branching 
low,  and  spreading  into  stately,  beautiful  heads  of  ver 
dure,  while  grey  wreaths  of  moss  hung  drooping  from 
some  of  them.  The  house  was  seen  not  very  distinctly 
among  these  trees  ;  it  shewed  low,  and  in  a  long  extent 
of  building.  I  have  never  seen  a  prettier  approach  to 
a  house  than  that  at  Magnolia.  My  heart  was  full  of 
the  beauty,  this  first  time. 

"  This  is  Magnolia,  Daisy/  said  my  aunt.     *  This  is 
your  house/ 

4  It  appears  a  fine  place/  said  Miss  Pinshon. 
3 


26  DAISY. 

1  It  is  one  of  the  finest  on  the  river.  This  is  your 
property,  Dais}^.' 

*  It  is  papa's/  I  answered. 

4  Well,  —  it  belongs  to  your  mother,  and  so  you  may 
say  it  belongs  to  your  father ;  but  it  is  yours  for  all 
that.  The  arrangement  was,  as  I  know/  my  aunt 
went  on,  addressing  Miss  Pinshon,  —  'the  arrange 
ment  in  the  marriage  settlements  was,  that  the  sons 
should  have  the  father's  property,  and  the  daughters 
the  mother's.  There  is  one  son  and  one  daughter  ;  so 
they  will  each  have  enough.' 

4  But  it  is  mamma's  and  papa's/  I  pleaded. 

'Owell —  it  will  be  yours.  That  is  what  I  mean. 
Ransom  will  have  Melbourne  and  the  Virginia  estates  ; 
and  Magnolia  is  yours.  You  ought  to  have  a  pretty 
good  education/ 

I  was  so  astonished  at  this  way  of  looking  at  things, 
that  again  I  lost  part  of  what  was  before  me.  The 
carriage  went  gently  along,  passing  the  house,  and 
coming  up  gradually  to  the  same  level ;  then  making  a 
turn  we  drove  at  a  better  pace  back  under  some  of 
those  great  evergreen  oaks,  till  we  drew  up  at  the 
house  door.  This  was  at  a  corner  of  the  building, 
which  stretched  in  a  long,  low  line  towards  the  river. 
A  verandah  skirted  all  that  long  front.  As  soon  as  I 
was  out  of  the  carriage  I  ran  to  the  furthest  end.  I 
found  the  verandah  turned  the  corner ;  the  lawn  too. 
All  along  the  front,  it  sloped  to  the  dell ;  at  the  end 
of  the  house,  it  sloped  more  gently  and  to  greater  dis 
tance  down  to  the  banks  of  the  river.  I  could  not  see 
the  river  itself.  The  view  of  the  dell  at  my  left  hand 
was  lovely.  A  little  stream  which  ran  in  the  bottom 
had  been  coaxed  to  form  a  clear  pool  in  an  open  spot. 


MY    HOME.  27 

where  the  sunlight  fell  upon  it,  surrounded  by  a  soft 
wilderness  of  trees  and  climbers.  Sweet  branches  of 
jessamine  waved  there  in  their  season ;  and  a  beauti 
ful  magnolia  had  been  planted  or  cherished  there,  and 
carefully  kept  in  view  of  the  house  windows.  But  the 
wide  lawns,  on  one  side  and  on  the  other,  grew  nothing 
but  the  oaks  ;  the  gentle  slope  was  a  pla3^ground  for 
sunshine  and  shadow,'  as  I  first  saw  it ;  for  then  the 
shadows  of  the  oaks  were  lengthening  over  the  grass, 
and  the  waving  grey  wreaths  of  moss  served  sometimes 
as  a  foil,  sometimes  as  an  usher,  to  the  sunbeams.  I 
stood  in  a  trance  of  joy  and  sorrow  ;  they  were  fighting 
so  hard  for  the  mastery ;  till  I  knew  that  my  aunt  and 
Miss  Pinshon  had  come  up  behind  me. 

'  This  is  a  proud  place  ! '  my  governess  remarked. 

I  believe  I  looked  at  her.  My  aunt  laughed ;  said 
she  must  not  teach  me  that  ,•  and  led  the  way  back  to 
the  entrance  of  the  house.  All  along  the  verandah  I 
noticed  that  the  green  blinded  long  windows  made 
other  entrances  for  whoever  chose  them. 

The  door  was  open  for  us  already,  and  within  was  a 
row  of  dark  faces  of  men  and  women,  and  a  show  of 
white  teeth  that  looked  like  a  welcome.  I  wondered 
aunt  Gary  did  not  say  more  to  answer  the  welcome ; 
she  only  dropped  a  few  careless  words  as  she  went  in, 
and  asked  if  dinner  was  ready.  I  looked  from  one 
to  another  of  the  strange  faces  and  gleaming  rows  of 
teeth.  These  were  my  mother's  servants ;  that  was 
something  that  came  near  to  my  heart.  I  heard  ii> 
quiries  after  4  Mis'  Felissy '  and  4  Mass'  Randolph,' 
and  then  the  question,  '  Mis'  'Lizy,  is  this  little 
missis?'  It  was  asked  by  an  old,  respectable-looking, 
grey-haired  negress.  I  did  not  hear  my  aunt's  answer ; 


28  DAISY. 

but  I  stopped  and  turned  to  the  woman  and  laid  my 
little  hand  in  her  withered  palm.  I  don't  know  what 
there  was  in  that  minute  ;  only  I  know  that  whereas  I 
touched  one  hand,  I  touched  a  great  many  hearts. 
Then  and  there  began  my  good  understanding  with  all 
the  coloured  people  on  my  mother's  estate  of  Magnolia. 
There  was  a  general  outburst  of  satisfaction  and  wel 
come.  Some  of  the  voices  blessed  me  ;  more  than  one 
remarked  that  I  was  4  like  Mass'  Randolph ; '  and  I 
went  into  the  parlour  with  a  warm  spot  in  my  heart, 
which  had  been  very  cold. 

I  was  oddly  at  home  at  once.  The  room  indeed 
was  a  room  I  had  never  seen  before  ;  yet  according  to 
the  mystery  of  such  things,  the  inanimate  surroundings 
bore  the  mark  of  the  tastes  and  habits  I  had  grown  up 
among  all  my  life.  A  great  splendid  fire  was  blazing 
in  the  chimney ;  a  rich  carpet  was  on  the  floor ;  the 
furniture  was  luxurious  though  not  showy,  and  there 
was  plenty  of  it.  So  there  was  a  plenty  of  works  of 
art,  in  home  and  foreign  manufacture.  Comfort,  ele 
gance,  prettiness,  all  around ;  and  through  the  clear 
glass  of  the  .long  windows  the  evergreen  oaks  on  the 
lawn  shewed  like  guardians  of  the  place.  I  stood  at 
one  of  them,  with  the  pressure  of  that  joy  and  sorrow 
filling  my  childish  heart. 

My  aunt  presently  called  me  from  the  window,  and 
bade  me  let  Margaret  take  off  my  things.  I  got  leave 
to  go  up  stairs  with  Margaret  and  take  them  off  there. 
So  I  ran  up  the  low  easy  flight  of  stairs  —  they  were 
wooden  and  uncarpeted  —  to  a  matted  gallery  lit  from 
the  roof,  with  here  and  there  a  window  in  a  recess  look 
ing  upon  the  lawn.  Many  rooms  opened  into  this 
gallery.  I  went  from  one  to  another.  Here  were 


MY    HOME.  29 

great  wood  fires  burning  too ;  here  were  snowy  white 
beds,  with  light  muslin  hangings ;  and  dark  cabinets 
and  wardrobes  ;  and  mats  on  the  floors,  with  thick  car 
pets  and  rugs  laid  down  here  and  there.  And  on  one 
side  and  on  the  other  side  the  windows  looked  out 
upon  the  wide  lawn,  with  its  giant  oaks  hung  with  grey 
wreaths  of  moss.  My  heart  grew  sore  straitened.  It 
was  a  hard  evening,  that  first  evening  at  Magnolia ; 
with  the  loveliness  and  the  brightness,  the  warm  at 
traction,  and  the  bitter  cold  sense  of  loneliness.  I 
longed  to  throw  myself  down  and  cry.  What  I  did, 
was  to  stand  by  one  of  the  windows  and  fight  myself 
not  to  let  the  tears  come.  If  they  were  here,  it  would 
be  so  happy !  If  they  were  here  —  oh,  if  they  were 
here ! 

I  believe  the  girl  spoke  to  me  without  my  hearing 
her.  But  then  came  somebody  whom  I  was  obliged  to 
hear,  shouting  'Daisy*  along  the  gallery.  I  faced 
him  with  a  great  effort.  He  wanted  to  know  what  I 
was  doing,  and  how  I  liked  it,  and  where  my  room 
was. 

'Not  found  it  yet?'  said  Preston.  'Is  this  it? 
Whose  room  is  this,  hey?  —  you  somebody?' 

4  Maggie,  massa,'  said  the  girl  dropping  a  curtsey. 

4  Maggie,  where  is  your  mistress's  room  ? ' 

'  This  is  Mis'  'Liza's  room,  sir.' 

'  Nonsense  !  Mis'  'Liza  is  only  here  on  a  visit  —  this 
is  your  mistress.  Where  is  her  room,  hey  ? ' 

4  O  stop,  Preston  ! '  I  begged  him.  '  I  am  not  mis 
tress.' 

4  Yes,  you  are.      I'll  roast  anybody  who  says  you 
aint.     Come  along,  and  you  shall  choose  which  room 
3* 


30  DAISY. 

you  will  have ;  and  if  it  isn't  ready  they  will  get  it 
read}r.  Come ! ' 

I  made  him  understand  my  choice  might  depend  on 
where  other  people's  rooms  were ;  and  sent  him  off. 
Then  I  sent  the  girl  away  —  she  was  a  pleasant-faced 
mulatto,  very  eager  to  help  me  —  and  left  to  myself  I 
hurriedly  turned  the  key  in  the  lock.  I  must  have 
some  minutes  to  myself,  if  I  was  to  bear  the  burden  of 
that  afternoon  ;  and  I  knelt  down  with  as  heavy  a 
heart,  almost,  as  I  ever  knew.  In  all  my  life  I  had 
never  felt  so  castaway  and  desolate.  When  my  father 
and  mother  first  went  from  me,  I  was  at  least  among 
the  places  where  they  had  been ;  June  was  with  me 
still,  and  I  knew  not  Miss  Pinshon.  The  journey  had 
had  its  excitements  and  its  interest.  Now  I  was 
alone ;  for  June  had  decided,  with  tears  and  woful 
looks,  that  she  would  not  come  to  Magnolia;  and 
Preston  would  be  soon  on  his  way  back  to  college.  I 
knew  of  only  one  comfort  in  the  world  ;  that  wonderful , 
4Lo,  I  am  with  you.'  Does  anybody  know  what  that 
means,  who  has  not  made  it  the  single  plank  bridge 
over  an  abyss? 

No  one  found  out  that  anything  was  the  matter  with 
me,  except  Preston.  His  caresses  were  dangerous  to 
my  composure.  I  kept  him  off;  and  he  eat  his  dinner 
with  a  thundercloud  face  which  foretold  war  with  all 
governesses.  For  me,  it  was  hard  work  enough  to 
maintain  my  quiet;  everything  made  it  hard.  Each 
new  room,  every  arrangement  of  furniture,  every  table 
appointment,  though  certainly  not  what  I  had  seen 
before,  yet  seemed  so  like  home  that  I  was  constantly 
missing  what  would  have  made  it  home  indeed.  It 
was  the  shell  without  the  kernel.  The  soup  ladle 


MY    HOME.  31 

seemed  to  be  by  mistake  in  the  wrong  hands  ;  Preston 
seemed  to  have  no  business  with  my  father's  carving 
knife  and  fork ;  the  sense  of  desolation  pressed  upon 
me  everywhere. 

After  dinner  the  ladies  went  up  stairs  to  choose  their 
rooms,  and  Miss  Pinshon  avowed  that  she  wished  to 
have  mine  within  hers ;  it  would  be  proper  and  con 
venient,  she  said.  Aunt  Gary  made  no  objection ;  but 
there  was  some  difficulty,  because  all  the  rooms  had 
independent  openings  into  the  gallery.  Miss  Pinshon 
hesitated  a  moment  between  one  of  two  that  opened 
into  each  other  and  another  that  was  pleasanter  and 
larger  but  would  give  her  less  facility  for  overlooking 
my  affairs.  For  one  moment  I  drew  a  breath  of  hope  ; 
and  then  my  hope  was  quashed.  Miss  Pinshon  chose 
one  of  the  two  that  opened  into  each  other ;  and  niy 
only  comfort  was  in  the  fact  that  my  own  room  had 
two  doors  and  I  was  not  obliged  to  go  through  Miss 
Pinshon's  to  get  to  it.  Just  as  this  business  was  set 
tled,  Preston  called  me  out  into  the  gallery  and  asked 
roe  to  go  for  a  walk.  I  questioned  with  myself  a  sec 
ond,  whether  I  should  ask  leave  ;  but  I  had  an  inward 
assurance  that  to  ask  leave  would  be  not  to  go.  I  felt 
I  must  go.  I  ran  back  to  the  room  where  my  things 
lay,  and  in  two  minutes  I  was  out  of  the  house. 

My  first  introduction  to  Magnolia !  How  well  I  re 
member  every  minute  and  every  foot  of  the  way.  It 
was  delicious,  the  instant  I  stepped  out  among  the 
oaks  and  into  the  sunshine.  Freedom  was  there,  at  all 
events. 

1  Now  Daisy,  we'll  go  to  the  stables,'  Preston  said, 
4  and  see  if  there  is  anything  fit  for  you.  I  am  afraid 


32  DAISY. 

there  isn't ;  though  Edwards  told  me  he  thought  there 
was.' 

4  Who  is  Edwards  ? '  I  asked,  as  we  sped  joyfully 
away  through  the  oaks,  across  shade  and  sunshine. 

4  O  he  is  the  overseer.' 

4  What  is  an  overseer  ? ' 

6  What  is  an  overseer  ?  —  why,  he  is  the  man  that 
looks  after  things.' 

4  What  things?'  I  asked. 

1  All  the  things —  everything,  Daisy  ;  all  the  affairs 
of  the  plantation  ;  the  rice-fields  and  the  cotton-fields, 
and  the  people,  and  everything.' 

4  Where  are  the  stables  ?  and  where  are  we  going  ? ' 

4  Here  — just  here  —  a  little  way  off.  They  are  just 
in  a  dell  over  here  —  the  other  side  of  the  house,  where 
the  quarters  are.' 

4  Quarters'?  I  repeated. 

4  Yes.  O  you  don't  know  anything  down  here,  but 
you'll  learn.  The  stables  and  quarters  are  in  this  dell 
we  are  coming  to ;  nicely  out  of  sight.  Magnolia  is 
one  of  the  prettiest  places  on  the  river.' 

We  had  passed  through  the  grove  of  oaks  on  the 
further  side  of  the  house,  and  then  found  the  beginning 
of  a  dell  which,  like  the  one  by  which  we  had  come  up 
a  few  hours  before,  sloped  gently  down  to  the  river. 
In  its  course  it  widened  out  to  a  little  low  sheltered 
open  ground,  where  a  number  of  buildings  stood. 

4  So  the  house  is  between  two  delis,'  I  said. 

4  Yes  ;  and  on  that  height  up  there,  beyond  the  quar 
ters,  is  the  cemetery ;  and  from  there  you  can  see  a 
great  many  fields  and  the  river  and  have  a  beautiful 
view.  And  there  are  capital  rides  all  about  the  place, 
Daisy.' 


MY    HOME.  33 

"When  we  came  to  the  stables,  Preston  sent  a  boy  in 
search  of  '  Darius.'  Darius,  he  told  me,  was  the  coach 
man,  and  chief  in  charge  of  the  stable  department. 
Darius  came  presently.  He  was  a  grey-headed,  fine- 
looking,  most  respectable  black  man.  He  had  driven 
my  mother  and  my  mother's  mother;  and  being  a 
trusted  and  important  man  on  the  place,  and  for  other 
reasons,  he  had  a  manner  and  bearing  that  were  a 
model  of  dignified  propriety.  Very  grave  '  uncle 
Darry '  was  ;  stately  and  almost  courtly  in  his  respect 
ful  courtesy ;  but  he  gave  me  a  pleasant  smile  when 
Preston  presented  him. 

4  We's  happy  to  see  Miss  Daisy  at  her  own  home. 
Hope  de  Lord  bress  her.' 

My  heart  warmed  at  these  words  like  the  ice-bound 
earth  in  a  spring  day.  They  were  not  carelessly 
spoken,  nor  was  the  welcome.  My  feet  trod  the  green 
sward  more  firmly.  Then  all  other  thoughts  were  for 
the  moment  put  to  flight  by  Preston's  calling  for  the 
pony  and  asking  Darius  what  he  thought  of  him,  and 
Darry's  answer. 

4  Very  far,  massa  ;  very  far.  Him  no  good  for  not"' 
ing.' 

While  I  pondered  what  this  judgment  might  amount 
to,  the  pony  was  brought  out.  He  was  larger  than 
Loupe,  and  had  not  Loupe's  peculiar  symmetry  of  mane 
and  tail ;  he  was  a  fat  dumpy  little  fellow,  sleek  and 
short,  dapple  grey,  with  a  good  long  tail  and  a  mild 
eye.  Preston  declared  he  had  no  shape  at  all  and  was 
a  poor  concern  of  a  pony ;  but  to  my  eyes  he  was 
beautiful.  He  took  one  or  two  sugarplums  from  my 
hand  with  as  much  amenity  as  if  we  had  been  old 


34  DAISY. 

acquaintances  Then  a  boy  was  put  on  him,  who  rode 
him  up  and  down  with  a  halter. 

4  He'll  do,  Darius,'  said  Preston. 

4  For  little  missis  ?  Just  big  enough,  massa.  Got 
no  tricks  at  all,  only  he  no  like  work.  Not  much  spring 
in  him.' 

4  Daisy  must  take  the  whip  then.  Come  and  let 
us  go  look  at  some  of  the  country  where  you  will 
ride.  Are  you  tired,  Daisy?' 

4  O  no,'  I  said.  4  But  wait  a  minute,  Preston.  Who 
lives  in  all  those  houses  ? ' 

4  The  people.  The  hands.  They  are  away  in  the 
fields  at  work  now/ 

'  Does  Darius  live  there  ?  ' 

4  Of  course.     They  all  live  here.' 

4 1  should  like  to  go  nearer,  and  see  the  houses.1 

4  Daisy,  it  is  nothing  on  earth  to  see.  They  are  all 
just  alike  ;  and  you  see  them  from  here.' 

4 1  want  to  look  in,'  —  I  said,  moving  down  the 
slope. 

4  Daisy,'  said  Preston,  4  you  are  just  as  fond  of  hav 
ing  your  own  way  as  — ' 

1  As  what?     I  do  not  think  I  am,  Preston.' 

( I  suppose  nobody  thinks  he  is,'  grumbled  Preston, 
following  me,  — 4  except  the  fellows  who  can't  get  it.' 

I  had  by  this  time  almost  forgotten  Miss  Pinshon.  I 
had  almost  come  to  think  that  Magnolia  might  be  a 
pleasant  place.  In  the  intervals  when  the  pony  was 
out  of  sight,  I  had  improved  my  knowledge  of  the  old 
coachman ;  and  every  look  added  to  n?y  liking. 
There  was  something  I  could  not  read  that  more  and 
more  drew  me  to  him.  A  simplicity  in  hi«  good  man 
ners,  a  placid  expression  in  his  gravity,  a  staid  reserve 


MY    HOME.  35 

in  bis  humility,  were  all  there ;  and  more  yet.  Also 
the  scene  in  the  dell  was  charming  to  me.  The  ground 
about  the  negro  cottages  was  kept  neat ;  they  were 
neatly  built  of  stone  and  stood  round  the  sides  of  a 
quadrangle  ;  while  on  each  side  and  below  the  wooded 
slopes  of  ground  closed  in  the  picture.  Sunlight  was 
streaming  through  and  brightening  up  the  cottages  and 
resting  on  uncle  Darry's  swart  face.  Down  through 
the  sunlight  I  went  to  the  cottages.  The  first  door 
stood  open,  and  I  looked  in.  At  the  next  I  was  about 
to  knock,  but  Preston  pushed  open  the  door  for  me ; 
and  so  he  did  for  a  third  and  a  fourth.  Nobody  was 
in  them.  I  was  a  good  deal  disappointed.  They 
were  empty,  bare,  dirty,  and  seemed  to  me  very  for 
lorn.  What  a  set  of  people  my  mother's  hands  must 
be,  I  thought.  Presently  I  came  upon  a  ring  of  girls, 
a  little  larger  than  I  was,  huddled  together  behind  one 
of  the  cottages.  There  was  no  manners  about  them. 
They  were  giggling  and  grinning,  hopping  on  one  foot, 
and  going  into  other  awkward  antics ;  not  the  less  that 
most  of  them  had  their  arms  filled  with  little  black 
babies.  I  had  got  enough  for  that  day,  and  turning 
about  left  the  dell  with  Preston. 

At  the  head  of  the  dell,  Preston  led  off  in  a  new  di 
rection,  along  a  wide  avenue  that  ran  through  the 
woods.  Perfectly  level  and  smooth,  with  the  woods 
closing  in  on  both-  sides  and  making  long  vistas 
through  their  boles  and  under  their  boughs.  By  and 
by  we  took  another  path  that  led  off  from  this  one, 
wide  enough  for  two  horses  to  go  abreast.  The  pine 
trees  were  sweet  overhead  and  on  each  hand,  making 
the  light  soft  and  the  air  fragrant.  Preston  and  1 
wandered  on  in  delightful  roaming ;  leaving  the  house 


36  DAISY. 

and  all  that  it  contained  at  an  unremembered  distance. 
Suddenly  we  came  out  upon  a  cleared  field.  It  was 
many  acres  large  ;  in  the  distance  a  number  of  people 
were  at  work.  We  turned  back  again. 

1  Preston,'  I  said,  after  a  silence  of  a  few  minutes,  — 
'  there  seemed  to  be  no  women  in  those  cottages.  I 
did  not  see  any.' 

"  I  suppose  not,'  said  Preston  ;  '  because  there  were 
not  any  to  see/ 

4  But  had  all  those  little  babies  no  mothers  ? ' 

'  Yes,  of  course,  Daisy  ;  but  they  were  in  the  field.' 

'  The  mothers  of  those  little  babies  ?  ' 

4  Yes.  What  about  it?  Look  here  —  are  you  get 
ting  tired  ? ' 

I  said  no ;  and  he  put  his  arm  round  me  fondly,  so 
as  to  hold  me  up  a  little  ;  and  we  wandered  gently  on, 
back  to  the  avenue,  then  down  its  smooth  course 
further  yet  from  the  house,  then  off  by  another  wood 
path  through  the  pines  on  the  other  side.  This  was  a 
narrower  path,  amidst  sweeping  pine  branches  and 
hanging  creepers,  some  of  them  prickly,  which  threw 
themselves  all  across  the  way.  It  was  not  easy  get 
ting  along.  1  remarked  that  nobody  seemed  to  come 
there  much. 

'  I  never  came  here  myself,'  said  Preston,  '  but  I 
know  it  must  lead  out  upon  the  river  somewhere,  and 
that's  what  I  am  after.  Hollo !-  we  are  coming  to 
something.  There  is  something  white  through  the 
trees.  I  declare,  I  believe  — ' 

Preston  had  been  out  in  his  reckoning,  and  a  second 
time  had  brought  me  where  he  did  not  wish  to  bring 
me.  We  came  presently  to  an  open  place,  or  rather  a 
place  where  the  pines  stood  a  little  apart ;  and  there 


MY    HOME.  37 

in  the  midst  was  a  small  enclosure.  A  low  brick  wall 
surrounded  a  square  bit  of  ground,  with  an  iron  gate 
in  one  side  of  the  square  ;  within,  the  grassy  plot  was 
spotted  with  the  white  marble  of  tombstones.  There 
were  large  and  small.  Overhead,  the  great  pine  trees 
stood  and  waved  their  long  branches  gently  in  the 
wind.  The  place  was  lonely  and  lovely.  We  had 
come,  as  Preston  guessed,  to  the  river,  and  the  shore 
was  here  high  ;  so  that  we  looked  down  upon  the  dark 
little  stream  far  below  us.  The  sunlight,  getting  low 
by  this  time,  hardly  touched  it ;  but  streamed  through 
the  pine  trees  and  over  the  grass  and  gilded  the  white 
marble  with  gold. 

4 1  did  not  mean  to  bring  you  here,'  said  Preston. 
4 1  did  not  know  I  was  bringing  you  here.  Come, 
Daisy  —  we'll  go  and  try  again.' 

4  O  stop  ! '  I  said —  4  I  like  it.     I  want  to  look  at  it.' 

4  It  is  the  cemetery,'  said  Preston.  4  That  tall  col 
umn  is  the  monument  of  our  great  —  no,  of  our  great, 
great  grandfather  ;  and  this  brown  one  is  for  mamma's 
father.  Come,  Daisy  ! '  — 

'Wait  a  little,'  I  said.  'Whose  is  that  with  the 
vase  on  top  ?  ' 

4  Vase?  '  said  Preston —  4  it's  an  urn.  It  is  an  urn, 
Daisy.  People  do  not  put  vases  on  tombstones.' 

I  asked  what  the  difference  was. 

4  The  difference  ?  O  Daisy,  Daisy  !  Why  vases  are 
to  put  flowers  in;  and  urns — I'll  tell  you,  Daisy, — 
I  believe  it  is  because  the  Romans  used  to  burn  the 
bodies  of  their  friends  and  gather  up  the  ashes  and 
keep  them  in  a  funeral  urn.  So  an  urn  comes  to  be 
appropriate  to  a  tombstone.' 

4 1  do  not  see  how.'  I  said. 

4 


38  DAISY. 

4  Why  because  an  urn  comes  to  be  an  emblem  of 
mortality  and  all  that.  Come,  Daisy  ;  let  us  go.' 

4 1  think  a  vase  of  flowers  would  be  a  great  deal 
nicer,'  I  said.  4  We  do  not  keep  the  ashes  of  our 
friends.' 

4  We  don't  put  signs  of  joy  over  their  graves  either,' 
said  Preston. 

4 1  should  think  we  might,'  I  said  meditatively. 
4  When  people  have  gone  to  Jesus — they  must  be  very 
glad ! ' 

Preston  burst  out  with  an  expression  of  hope  that 
Miss  Pinshon  would  4  do  something'  for  me;  and 
again  would  have  led  me  away ;  but  I  was  not  ready 
to  go.  My  eye,  roving  beyond  the  white  marble  and 
the  low  brick  wall,  had  caught  what  seemed  to  be  a 
number  of  meaner  monuments,  scattered  among  the 
pine  trees  and  spreading  down  the  slope  of  the  ground 
on  the  further  side,  where  it  fell  off  towards  another 
dell.  In  one  place  a  bit  of  board  was  set  up  ;  further 
on,  a  cross ;  then  I  saw  a  great  many  bits  of  board 
and  crosses  ;  some  more  and  some  less  carefully  made  ; 
and  still  as  my  eye  roved  about  over  the  ground  they 
seemed  to  start  up  to  view  in  eve^  direction ;  too  low 
and  too  humble  and  too  near  the  colour  of  the  fallen 
pine  leaves  to  make  much  show  unless  they  were 
looked  for.  I  asked  what  they  all  were  ? ' 

4  Those  ?     O  those  are  for  the  people,  you  know.' 

*  The  people  ? '  —  I  repeated. 

4  Yes,  the  people  —  the  hands.' 

4  There  are  a  great  many  of  them  ! '  I  remarked. 

4  Of  course,'  said  Preston.  4  You  see,  Daisy,  there 
have  been  I  don't  know  how  many  hundreds  of  hands 


MY    HOME.  39 

here  for  a  great  many  years,  ever  since  mother's 
grandfather's  time.' 

'  I  should  think,'  said  I,  looking  at  the  little  board 
slips  and  crosses  among  the  pine  cones  on  the 
ground,  — '  I  should  think  they  would  like  to  have 
something  nicer  to  put  up  over  their  graves/ 

'Nicer?  those  are  good  enough/  said  Preston. 
4  Good  enough  for  them.' 

4  I  should  think  they  would  like  to  have  something 
better,'  I  said.  4  Poor  people  at  the  North  have  nicer 
monuments,  I  know.  I  never  saw  such  monuments  in 
my  life/ 

4  Poor  people  ! '  cried  Preston.  '  Why  these  are  the 
hands,  Daisy,  —  the  coloured  people.  What  do  they 
want  of  monuments  ? ' 

4  Don't  they  care?'  said  I  wondering. 

4  Who  cares  if  they  care  ?  I  don't  know  whether 
they  care,'  said  Preston,  quite  out  of  patience  with  me, 
I  thought. 

4  Only,  if  they  cared,  I  should  think  they  would 
have  something  nicer,'  I  said.  '  Where  do  they  all  go 
to  church,  Preston  ? ' 

'Who?'  said  Preston. 

4 These  people?' 

4  What  people?  The  families  along  the  river,  do 
you  mean  ? ' 

4  No,  no,'  said  I ;  4 1  mean  our  people  —  these  peo 
ple  ;  the  hands.  You  say  there  are  hundreds  of  them. 
Where  do  they  go  to  church  ? ' 

I  faced  Preston  now  in  my  eagerness  ;  for  the  little 
board  crosses  and  the  forlorn  look  of  the  whole  buy 
ing  ground  on  the  side  of  the  hill,  had  given  me  a 


40  DAISY. 

strange  feeling.  4  Where  do  they  go  to  church,  Pres 
ton?' 

'  Nowhere,  I  reckon.' 

I  was  shocked,  and  Preston  was  impatient.  How 
should  he  know,  he  said  ;  he  did  not  live  at  Magnolia. 
And  he  carried  me  off.  We  went  back  to  the  avenue 
and  slowly  bent  our  steps  again  towards  the  house ; 
slowly,  for  I  was  tired,  and  we  both,  I  think,  were 
busy  with  our  thoughts.  Presently  I  saw  a  man,  a 
negro,  come  into  the  avenue  a  little  before  us  with  a 
bundle  of  tools  on  his  back.  He  went  as  slowly  as 
we,  with  an  indescribable,  purposeless  gait.  His  fig 
ure  had  the  same  look  too,  from  his  lop-sided  old 
white  hat  to  every  fold  of  his  clothing,  which  seemed 
to  hang  about  him  just  as  if  it  would  as  lieve  be  off  as 
on.  I  begged  Preston  to  hail  him  and  ask  him  the 
question  about  church  going,  which  sorely  troubled 
me.  Preston  was  unwilling  and  resisted. 

4  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  that  for,  Daisy  ? ' 

'  Because  aunt  Gary  told  Miss  Pinshon  that  we  have 
to  drive  six  miles  to  go  to  church.  Do  ask  him  where 
they  go ! ' 

4  They  don't  go  anywhere,  Daisy,'  said  Preston  im 
patiently  ;  4  they  don't  care  a  straw  about  it,  either. 
All  the  church  they  care  about  is  when  they  get  to 
gether  in  somebody's  house  and  make  a  great  muss.' 

4  Make  a  muss  ! '  said  I. 

4  Yes ;  a  regular  muss ;  shouting  and  crying  and 
having  what  they  call  a  good  time.  That's  what  some 
of  them  do  ;  but  I'll  wager  if  I  were  to  ask  him  about 
going  to  church,  this  fellow  here  would  not  know  what 
I  mean.' 

This  did   by  no  means  quiet  me.     I  insisted   that 


MY    HOME.  41 

Preston  should  stop  the  man ;  and  at  last  he  did. 
The  fellow  turned  and  came  back  towards  us,  ducking 
his  old  white  hat.  His  face  was  just  like  the  rest  of 
him  :  there  was  no  expression  in  it  but  an  expression 
of  limp  submissiveness. 

4  Sambo,  your  mistress  wants  to  speak  to  you.' 

4  Yes,  massa.     I's  George,  massa.' 

4  George,'  said  I,  *  I  want  to  know  where  you  go  to 
church?' 

4  Yes,  missis.     What  missis  want  to  know? ' 

4  Where  do  you  and  all  the  rest  go  to  church  ? ' 

4  Reckon  don't  go  nowhar,  missis.' 

4  Don't  you  ever  go  to  church  ? ' 

4  Church  for  white  folks,  missis ;  bery  far ;  long 
ways  to  ride.' 

4  But  you  and  the  rest  of  the  people  —  don't  you  go 
anywhere  to  church  ?  to  hear  preaching  ? ' 

4  Reckon  not,  missis.  De  preachin's  don't  come  dis 
way,  likely.' 

4  Can  you  read  the  Bible,  George? ' 

4  Dunno  read,  missis.     Never  had  no  larnin'.' 

4  Then  don't  you  know  anything  about  what  is  in  the 
Bible?  don't  you  know  about  Jesus?' 

4  Reckon  don't  know  not'ing,  missis.' 

4  About  Jesus  ? '  said  I  again. 

4  'Clar,  missis,  dis  nigger  don't  know  not'ing,  but  de 
rice  and  de  corn.  Missis  talk  to  Darry ;  he  most 
knowin'  nigger  on  plantation  ;  knows  a  heap.' 

4  There  ! '  exclaimed  Preston  —  4  that  will  do.  You 
go  off  to  your  supper,  George  —  and  Daisy,  you  had 
better  come  on  if  you  want  anything  pleasant  at  home. 
What  on  earth  have  you  got  now  by  that?  What  is 
the  use  ?  Of  course  they  do  not  know  anything  ;  and 


42  DAISY. 

why  should  they?    They  have  no  time  and  no  use  for 

it: 

'  They  have  time  on  Sundays  — '  I  said. 

4  Time  to  sleep.  That  is  what  they  do.  That  is  the 
only  thing  a  negro  cares  about,  to  go  to  sleep  in  the 
sun.  It's  all  nonsense,  Daisy.' 

'  They  would  care  about  something  else,  I  dare  say/ 
I  answered,  '  if  they  could  get  it.' 

4  Well  they  can't  get  it.  Now  Daisy,  I  want  you  to 
let  these  fellows  alone.  You  have  nothing  to  do  with 
them,  and  you  did  not  come  to  Magnolia  for  such 
work.  You  have  nothing  on  earth  to  do  with  them.' 

I  had  my  own  thoughts  on  the  subject,  but  Preston 
was  not  a  sympathizing  hearer.  I  said  no  more.  The 
evergreen  oaks  about  the  house  came  presently  in 
sight;  then  the  low  verandah  that  ran  round  three 
sides  of  it;  then  we  came  to  the  door,  and' my  walk 
was  over. 


THE  MULTIPLICATION  TABLE.  43 


CHAPTER  III. 

.    THE    MULTIPLICATION    TABLE. 

MY  life  at  Magnolia  might  be  said  to  begin  when  I 
came  clown  stairs  that  evening.  My  aunt  and  Miss 
Pinshon  were  sitting  in  the  parlour,  in  the  light  of  a 
glorious  fire  of  light  wood  and  oak  sticks.  Miss  Pin 
shon  called  me  to  her  at  once ;  inquired  where  I  had 
been  ;  informed  me  I  must  not  for  the  future  take  such 
diversion  without  her  leave  first  asked  and  obtained ; 
and  then  put  me  to  reading  aloud,  that  she  might  see 
how  well  I  could  do  it.  She  gave  me  a  philosophical 
article  in  a  magazine  for  my  proof  piece ;  it  was  full 
of  long  words  that  I  did  not  know  and  about  matters 
that  I  did  not  understand.  I  read  mechanically,  of 
course ;  trying  with  all  my  might  to  speak  the  long 
words  right,  that  there  might  be  no  room  for  cor 
rection  ;  but  Miss  Pinshon's  voice  interrupted  me 
again  and  again.  I  felt  cast  away  in  a  foreign  land ; 
further  and  further  from  the  home  feeling  every 
minute ;  and  it  seemed  besides  as  if  the  climate  had 
some  power  of  petrifaction.  I  could  not  keep  Medusa 
out  of  my  head.  It  was  a  relief  at  last  when  the  tea 
was  brought  in.  Miss  Pinshon  took  the  magazine  out 
of  my  hand. 

4  She  has  a  good  voice,  but  she  wants  expression/ 
was  her  remark. 


44  DAISY. 

4 1  could  not  understand  what  she  was  reading,'  said 
my  aunt  Gary. 

1  Nor  anybody  else,'  said  Preston.  '  How  are  you 
going  to  give  expression,  when  there  is  nothing  to 
express  ? ' 

4  That  is  where  you  feel  the  difference  between  a 
good  reader  and  one  who  is  not  trained,'  said  my 
governess.  4 1  presume  Daisy  has  never  been  trained.' 

4  No,  not  in  anything,'  said  my  aunt.  4 1  dare  say 
she  wants  a  good  deal  of  it.' 

4  We  will  try  —  '  said  Miss  Pinshon. 

It  all  comes  back  to  me  as  I  write,  that  beginning 
of  my  Magnolia  life.  I  remember  how  dazed  and 
disheartened  I  sat  at  the  tea-table,  yet  letting  nobody 
see  it ;  how  Preston  made  violent  efforts  to  change  the 
character  of  the  evening ;  and  did  keep  up  a  stir  that 
at  another  time  would  have  amused  me.  And  when  I 
was  dismissed  to  bed,  Preston  came  after  ine  to  the 
upper  gallery  and  almost  broke  up  my  power  of  keep 
ing  quiet.  He  gathered  me  in  his  arms,  kissed  me  and 
lamented  over  me,  and  denounced  ferocious  threats 
against  4  Medusa  ; '  while  I  in  vain  tried  to  stop  him. 
He  would  not  be  sent  away,  till  he  had  come  into  my 
room  and  seen  that  the  fire  was  burning  and  the  room 
warm  and  Margaret  ready  for  me. 

With  Margaret  there  was  also  an  old  coloured  woman, 
dark  and  wrinkled,  my  faithful  old  friend  mammy 
Theresa ;  but  indeed  I  could  scarcely  see  her  just  then, 
for  my  eyes  were  full  of  big  tears  when  Preston  left 
me ;  and  I  had  to  stand  still  before  the  fire  for  some 
minutes  before  I  could  fight  down  the  fresh  tears  that 
were  welling  up  and  let  those  which  veiled  my  eye 
sight  scatter  away.  I  was  conscious  how  silently  the 


THE  MULTIPLICATION  TABLE.  45 

two  women  waited  upon  me.  I  had  a  sense  even  then 
of  the  sympathy  they  were  giving.  I  knew  they  served 
me  with  a  respect  which  would  have  done  for  an 
Eastern  princess  ;  but  I  said  nothing  hardly,  nor  they, 
that  night. 

If  the  tears  came  when  I  was  alone,  so  did  sleep  too 
at  last ;  and  I  waked  up  the  next  morning  a  little  re 
vived.  It  was  a  cool  morning  ;  and  my  eyes  opened  to 
see  Margaret  on  her  knees  making  my  fire.  Two  good 
oak  sticks  were  on  the  fire  dogs,  and  a  heap  of  light 
wood  on  the  floor.  I  watched  her  piling  and  prepar 
ing,  and  then  kindling  the  wood  with  a  splinter  of 
liirht  wood  which  she  lit  in  the  candle.  It  was  all 

tT5 

very  strange  to  me.  The  bare  painted  and  varnished 
floor  ;  the  rugs  laid  down  here  and  there  ;  the  old  cup 
boards  in  the  wall ;  the  unwonted  furniture.  It  did  not 
feel  like  home.  I  lay  still,  until  the  fire  blazed  up  and 
Margaret  rose  to  her  feet,  and  seeing  iny  eyes  open 
dropped  her  curtsey. 

'Please,  missis,  may  I  be  Miss  Daisy's  girl?' 

i  I  will  ask  aunt  Gary,'  I  answered ;  a  good  deal 
surprised. 

i  Miss  Daisy  is  the  mistress.  We  all  belong  to  Miss 
Daisy.  It  will  be  as  she  say.' 

I  thought  to  myself  that  very  little  was  going  to  be 
1  as  I  said.'  I  got  out  of  bed,  feeling  terribly  slim- 
hearted,  and  stood  in  my  nightgown  before  the  fire, 
trying  to  let  the  blaze  warm  me.  Margaret  did  her 
duties  with  a  zeal  of  devotion  that  reminded  me  of  my 
old  June. 

4 1  will  ask  aunt  Gary,'  I  said  ;  4  and  I  think  she  will 
Jet  you  build  my  fire,  Margaret.' 

4  Thank'e,  ma'am.     First  rate  fires,  I'll  make,  Miss 


46  DAISY. 

Daisy.  We'se  all  so  glad  Miss  Daisy  come  to 
Magnoly.' 

Were  they  ?  I  thought,  and  what  did  she  mean  by 
their  all  '  belonging  to  me '  ?  I  was  not  accustomed 
to  quite  so  much  deference.  However,  I  improved 
my  opportunity  by  asking  Margaret  my  question  of 
the  day  before  about  church.  The  girl  half  laughed. 

4  Aint  any  church  big  enough  to  hold  all  de  people/ 
she  said.  4  Guess  we  coloured  folks  has  to  go  widout/ 

4  But  where  is  the  church  ? '  I  said. 

4  Aint  none,  Miss  Daisy.  People  enough  to  make  a 
church  full  all  himselves.' 

'  And  don't  you  want  to  go?' 

4  Reckon  it's  o'  no  consequence,  missis.  It's  a  right 
smart  chance  of  a  way  to  Bo'mbroke,  where  de  white 
folks'  church  is.  Guess  they  don't  have  none  for  poor 
folks  nor  niggers  in  dese  parts.' 

'But  Jesus  died  for  poor  people,'  I  said,  turning 
round  upon  my  attendant.  She  met  me  with  a  gaze  I 
did  not  understand,  and  said  nothing.  Margaret  was 
not  like  my  old  June.  She  was  a  clear  mulatto,  with 
a  fresh  colour  and  rather  a  handsome  face ;  and  her 
eyes,  unlike  June's  little  anxious,  restless,  almond 
shaped  eyes,  were  liquid  and  full.  She  went  on  care 
fully  with  the  toilet  duties  which  busied  her ;  and  I 
was  puzzled. 

4  Did  you  never  hear  of  Jesus?'  I  said  presently. 
4  Don't  you  know  that  he  loves  poor  people  ? ' 

4  Reckon  he  loves  rich  people  de  best,  Miss  Daisy,* 
the  girl  said  in  a  dry  tone. 

I  faced  about  to  deny  this  and  to  explain  how  the 
Lord  had  a  special  love  and  care  for  the  poor.  I  saw 


THE  MULTIPLICATION   TABLE.  47 

that  my  hearer  did  not  believe  me.  4  She  had  heerd 
so  '  —  she  said. 

The  dressing-bell  sounded  long  and  loud,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  let  Margaret  go  on  with  my  dressing  ;  but 
in  the  midst  of  my  puzzled  state  of  mind.  I  felt  child 
ishly  sure  of  the  power  of  that  truth,  of  the  Lord's 
love,  to  break  down  any  hardness  and  overcome  any 
coldness.  Yet,  '  how  shall  they  hear  without  a 
preacher  ? '  and  I  had  so  little  chance  to  speak. 

4  Then  Margaret/  said  I  at  last,  '  is  there  no  place 
where  you  can  go  to  hear  about  the  things  in  the 
Bible?' 

4  No,  missis  ;  I  never  goes.' 

4  And  does  not  anybody,  except  Darry  when  he  goes 
with  the  carriage  ?  ' 

'  Can't,  Miss  Daisy ;  it's  miles  and  miles ;  and  no 
place  for  niggers  neither.' 

4  Can  you  read  the  Bible,  Margaret?' 

4  Guess  not,  missis ;  we's  too  stupid ;  aint  good  for 
coloured  folks  to  read.' 

4  Does  nobody,  among  all  the  people,  read  the 
Bible?'  said  I,  once  more  stopping  Margaret  in  my 
dismay. 

4  Uncle  Darry  —  he  does,'  said  the  girl ;  4  and  he  do 
'spoun'  some ;  but  I  don't  make  no  count  of  his 
'spoundations.' 

I  did  not  know  quite  what  she  meant ;  but  I  had  no 
time  for  anything  more.  I  let  her  go,  locked  my  door 
and  kneeled  clown ;  with  the  burden  on  my  heart  of 
this  new  revelation;  that  there  were  hundreds  of 
people  under  the  care  of  my  father  and  mother,  who 
were  living  without  church  and  without  Bible,  in  des 
perate  ignorance  of  everything  worth  knowing.  If 


48  DAISY. 

papa  had  only  been  at  Magnolia  with  me  !  I  thought  I 
could  have  persuaded  'him  to  build  a  church  and  let 
somebody  come  and  teach  the  people.  But  now  — 
what  could  I  do  ?  And  I  asked  the  Lord,  what  could 
I  do  ?  but  I  did  not  see  the  answer. 

Feeling  the  question  on  my  two  shoulders,  I  went 
down  stairs.  To  my  astonishment,  I  found  the  family 
all  gathered  in  solemn  order ;  the  house  servants  at 
one  end  of  the  room,  my  aunt,  Miss  Pinshon  and 
Preston  at  the  other,  and  before  my  aunt  a  little  table 
with  books.  I  got  a  seat  as  soon  as  I  could,  for  it 
was  plain  that  something  was  waiting  for  me.  Then 
my  aunt  opened  the  Bible  and  read  a  chapter,  and 
followed  it  with  a  prayer  read  out  of  another  book.  I 
was  greatly  amazed  at  the  whole  proceeding.  No 
such  ceremony  was  ever  gone  through  at  Melbourne ; 
and  certainly  nothing  had  ever  given  me  the  notion 
that  my  aunt  Gary  was  any  more  fond  of  sacred  things 
than  the  rest  of  the  family. 

4  An  excellent  plan,'  said  Miss  Pinshon,  when  we 
had  risen  from  our  knees  and  the  servants  had  filed 
off. 

'  Yes,'  my  aunt  said,  somewhat  as  if  it  needed  an 
apology ;  —  'it  was  the  custom  in  my  father's  and 
grandfather's  time  ;  and  we  always  keep  it  up.  I  think 
old  customs  always  should  be  kept  up.' 

'  And  do  you  have  the  same  sort  of  thing  on  Sun 
days,  for  the  out-of-door  hands  ?  ' 

'What?'  said  my  aunt.  It  was  somewhat  more 
abrupt  than  polite ;  but  she  probably  felt  that  Miss 
Pinshon  was  a  governess. 

4  There  were  only  the  house  servants  gathered  this 
morning.' 


THE  MULTIPLICATION  TABLE.  49 

1  Of  course  ;  part  of  them.' 

'  Have  you  any  similar  system  of  teaching  for  those 
who  are  outside  ?  I  think  you  told  me  they  have  no 
church  to  go  to.' 

4  I  should  like  to  know  what  "  system"  you  would 
adopt,'  said  my  aunt,  4  to  reach  seven  hundred  peo 
ple.' 

4  A  church  and  a  minister  would  not  be  a  bad 
thing.' 

4  Or  we  might  all  turn  missionaries,'  said  Preston ; 
4  and  go  among  them  with  bags  of  Bibles  round  our 
necks.  We  might  all  turn  missionaries.' 

4  Colporteurs,'  said  Miss  Pinshon. 

Then  I  said  in  my  heart,  '  I  will  be  one.'  But  I 
went  on  eating  my  breakfast  and  did  not  look  at  any 
body  ;  only  I  listened  with  all  my  might. 

'  I  don't  know  about  that,'  said  my  aunt.  4  I  doubt 
whether  a  church  and  a  minister  would  be  benefi 
cial.' 

4  Then  you  have  a  nation  of  heathen  at  your  doors,' 
said  Miss  Pinshon. 

4 1  don't  know  but  they  are  just  as  well  off,'  said  my 
aunt.  4  I  doubt  if  more  light  would  do  them  any  good. 
They  would  not  understand  it.' 

4  They  must  be  very  dark,  if  they  could  not  under 
stand  light,'  said  my  governess. 

4  Just  as  people  that  are  very  light  cannot  under 
stand  darkness,'  said  Preston. 

4  I  think  so,'  my  aunt  went  on.  4  Our  neighbour  Col. 
Joram,  down  below  here  at  Crofts,  will  not  allow  such 
a  thing  as  preaching  or  teaching  on  his  plantation.  He 
says  it  is  bad  for  them.  We  always  allowed  it ;  but  I 
don't  know.' 

5 


50  DAISY. 

'Colonel  Joram  is  a  heathen  himself,  3^011  know, 
mother,'  said  Preston.  '  Don't  hold  him  up.' 

4 1  will  hold  him  up  for  a  gentleman,  and  a  very 
successful  planter,'  said  Mrs.  Gary.  4  No  place  is 
better  worked  or  managed  than  Crofts.  If  the  estate 
of  Magnolia  were  worked  and  kept  as  well,  it  would  be 
worth  half  as  much  again  as  it  ever  has  been.  But 
there  is  the  difference  of  the  master's  eye.  My 
brother-in-law  never  could  be  induced  to  settle  at 
Magnolia,  nor  at  his  own  estates  either.  He  likes  it 
better  in  the  cold  North.' 

Miss  Pinshon  made  no  remark  whatever  in  answer 
to  this  statement ;  and  the  rest  of  the  talk  at  the  break 
fast  table  was  about  rice. 

After  breakfast  my  school  life  at  Magnolia  began. 
It  seems  as  if  all  the  threads  of  my  life  there  were  in  a 
hurry  to  get  into  my  hand.  Ah,  I  had  a  handful 
soon !  But  this  was  the  fashion  of  my  first  day  with 
my  governess.  All  the  days  were  not  quite  so  bad  ; 
however  it  gave  the  key  of  them  all. 

Miss  Pinshon  bade  me  come  with  her  to  the  room 
she  and  my  aunt  had  agreed  should  be  the  school 
room.  It  was  the  book  room  of  the  house,  though  it 
had  hardly  books  enough  to  be  called  a  library.  It 
had  been  the  study  or  private  room  of  my  grandfather  ; 
there  was  a  leather-covered  table  with  an  old  bronze 
standish  ;  some  plain  book-cases  ;  a  large  escritoire  ;  a 
terrestrial  globe  ;  a  thermometer  and  barometer  ;  and 
the  rest  of  the  furniture  was  an  abundance  of  chintz- 
covered  chairs  and  lounges.  These  were  very  easy 
and  pleasant  for  use ;  and  long  windows  opening  on 
the  verandah  looked  off  among  the  evergreen  oaks  and 
their  floating  grey  drapery ;  the  light  in  the  room  and 


THE  MULTIPLICATION  TABLE.  51 

the  whole  aspect  of  it  was  agreeable.  If  Miss  Pinslion 
had  not  been  there  !  But  she  was  there,  with  a  terrible 
air  of  business ;  setting  one  or  two  chairs  in  certain 
positions  by  a  window,  and  handling  one  or  two  books 
on  the  table.  I  stood  meek  and  helpless,  expectant. 

4  Have  you  read  any  history,  Daisy  ? ' 

I  said  no  ;  then  I  said  yes,  I  had  ;  a  little. 

'What?' 

*  A  little  of  the  history  of  England  last  summer.' 

4  Not  of  your  own  country  ? ' 

4  No,  ma'am.' 

4  And  no  ancient  history  ? ' 

k  No,  ma'am.' 

4  You  know  nothing  of  the  Division  of  the  nations, 
of  course  ? ' 

I  answered,  nothing.  I  had  no  idea  what  she  meant ; 
except  that  England,  and  America,  and  France,  were 
different,  and  of  course  divided.  Of  Peleg  the  son  of 
Eber  and  the  brother  of  Joktan,  I  then  knew  nothing. 

4  And  arithmetic  is  something  you  do  not  under 
stand,'  pursued  Miss  Pinshon.  4  Come  here  and  let 
me  see  how  you  can  write.' 

With  trembling,  stiff  little  fingers  —  I  feel  them  yet 
—  I  wrote  some  lines  under  my  governess's  eye. 

4  Very  unformed,'  was  her  comment.  4And  now, 
Daisy,  you  may  sit  down  there  in  the  window  and 
study  the  multiplication  table.  See  how  much  of  it 
you  can  get  this  morning.' 

Was  it  to  be  a  morning's  work?  My  heart  was 
heavy  as  lead.  At  this  hour,  at  Melbourne,  my  task 
would  have  been  to  get  my  flat  hat  and  rush  out  among 
the  beds  of  flowers ;  and  a  little  later,  to  have  up 
Loupe  and  go  driving  whither  I  would,  among  the 


52  DAISY. 

meadows  and  cornfields.  Ah,  yes ;  and  there  was 
Molly  who  might  be  taught,  and  Juanita  who  might  be 
visited ;  and  Dr.  Sandford  who  might  come  like  a 
pleasant  gale  of  wind  into  the  midst  of  whatever  I  was 
about.  I  did  not  stop  to  think  of  them  now,  though  a 
waft  of  the  sunny  air  through  the  open  window  brought 
a  violent  rush  of  such  images.  I  tried  to  shut  them 
out  of  my  head  and  gave  myself  wistfully  to  '  three 
times  one  is  three ;  three  times  two  is  six/  Miss 
Pinshon  helped  me  by  closing  the  window.  I  thought 
she  might  have  let  so  much  sweetness  as  that  come 
into  the  multiplication  table.  However  I  studied  its 
threes  and  fours  steadily  for  some  time  dry ;  then 
my  attention  flagged.  It  was  very  uninteresting,  I 
had  never  in  all  my  life  till  then  been  obliged  to  study 
what  gave  me  no  pleasure.  My  mind  wandered,  and 
then  my  eyes  wandered,  to  where  the  sunlight  li*y  so 
golden  under  the  live  oaks.  The  wreaths  of  grey  moss 
stirred  gently  with  the  wind.  I  longed  to  be  out  tnere. 
Miss  Pinshon's  voice  startled  me. 

4  Daisy,  where  are  your  thoughts  ?  ' 

I  hastily  brought  my  eyes  and  wits  home  and 
answered,  4  Out  upon  the  lawn,  ma'am/ 

4  Do  you  find  the  multiplication  table  there  ? ' 

It  was  so  needless  to  answer !  I  was  mute.  I  ^  ould 
have  come  to  the  rash  conclusion  that  nature  and 
mathematics  had  nothing  to  do  with  each  other. 

4  You  must  learn  to  command  your  attention/  my 
governess  went  on.  4  You  must  not  let  it  wander. 
That  is  the  first  lesson  yon  have  to  learn.  I  shall 
give  you  mathematics  till  you  have  learnt  it.  You 
can  do  nothing  without  attention/ 

I  bent  myself  to  the  threes  and  fours  again.     But  I 


THE   MULTIPLICATION   TABLE. 

was  soon  weary ;  my  mind  escaped  ;  and  without  turn 
ing  my  eyes  off  my  book,  it  swept  over  the  distance 
between  Magnolia  and  Melbourne  and  sat  down  by 
Molly  Skelton  to  help  her  in  getting  her  letters.  It 
was  done  and  I  was  there.  I  could  hear  the  hesitating 
utterances  ;  I  could  see  the  dull  finger  tracing  its  way 
along  the  lines.  And  then  would  come  the  reading  to 
Molty,  and  the  interested  look  of  waiting  attention, 
and  once  in  a  while  the  strange  softening  of  the  poor 
hard  face.  From  there  my  mind  went  off  to  the 
people  around  me  at  Magnolia ;  were  there  some  to  be 
taught  here  perhaps?  and  could  I  get  at  them?  and 
was  there  no  other  way  —  could  it  be  there  was  no 
other  way  but  by  my  weak  little  voice  —  through 
which  some  of  them  were  ever  to  learn  about  my  dear 
Saviour?  I  had  got  very  far  from  mathematics,  and 
my  book  fell.  I  heard  Miss  Pinshon's  voice. 

4  Daisy,  come  here.' 

I  obeyed  and  came  to  the  table,  where  my  governess 
was  installed  in  the  leather  chair  of  my  grandfather. 
She  always  used  it. 

4 1  should  like  to  know  what  you  are  doing.' 

4 1  was  thinking  — '  I  said. 

4  Did  I  give  you  thinking  to  do  ?  ' 

'  No,  ma'am  ;  not  of  that  kind.' 

4  What  kind  was  it?' 

4 1  was  thinking,  and  remembering  — ' 

4  Pray  what  were  you  remembering? ' 

4  Things  at  home  —  and  other  things.' 

'  Things  and  things,'  said  Miss  Pinshon.  4  That  is 
*»oL  a  very  elegant  way  of  speaking.  Let  me  hear  how 
much  you  have  learned.' 

I  began.  About  all  of  the  '  threes '  was  on  my 
5* 


54  DAISY. 

tongue  ;  the  rest  had  got  mixed  up  hopelessly  with 
Molly  Skelton  and  teaching  Bible  reading.  Miss  Pin- 
shon  was  not  pleased. 

1  You  must  learn  attention/  she  said.  4 1  can  do 
nothing  with  you  until  you  have  succeeded  in  that. 
You  must  attend.  Now  I  shall  give  you  a  motive  for 
minding  what  you  are  about.  Go  and  sit  down  again 
and  study  this  table  till  you  know  the  threes  and  the 
fours  and  the  fives  and  the  sixes,  perfectly.  Go  and 
sit  down/ 

I  sat  down,  and  the  life  was  all  out  of  me.  Tears 
in  the  first  place  had  a  great  mind  to  come,  and  would 
put  themselves  between  me  and  the  figures  in  the 
multiplication  table.  I  governed  them  back  after  a 
while.  But  I  could  not  study  to  purpose.  I  was 
tired  and  down-spirited;  I  had  not  energy  left  to 
spring  to  my  task  and  accomplish  it.  Over  and  over 
again  I  tried  to  put  the  changes  of  the  numbers  in  my 
head  ;  it  seemed  like  writing  them  in  sand.  My  memory 
would  not  take  hold  of  them ;  could  not  keep  them ; 
with  all  my  trying  I  grew  only  more  and  more  stupefied 
and  fagged  and  less  capable  of  doing  what  I  had  to  do. 
So  dinner  came,  and  Miss  Pinshon  said  I  might  get 
myself  ready  for  dinner  and  after  dinner  come  back 
again  to  my  lesson.  The  lesson  must  be  finished  be 
fore  anything  else  was  done. 

I  had  no  appetite.  Preston  was  in  a  fume  of  vexa 
tion,  partly  roused  by  my  looks,  partly  by  hearing 
that  I  was  not  yet  free.  He  was  enraged  beyond  pru 
dent  speaking,  but  Miss  Pinshon  never  troubled  her 
self  about  his  words ;  and  when  the  first  and  second 
courses  were  removed,  told  me  I  might  go  to  my  work. 
Preston  called  to  me  to  stay  and  have  some  fruit ;  but 


THE   MULTIPLICATION  FABLE.  55 

I  went  on  to  the  study,  not  caring  for  fruit  or  for  any 
thing  else.  I  felt  very  dull  and  miserable.  Then  I 
remembered  that  my  governess  probably  did  care  for 
some  fruit  and  would  be  delayed  a  little  while ;  and 
then  I  tried  what  is  the  best  preparation  for  study  or 
anything  else.  I  got  down  on  my  knees,  to  ask  that 
help  which  is  as  willingly  given  to  a  child  in  her 
troubles  as  to  the  general  of  an  army.  I  prayed  that  I 
might  be  patient  and  obedient  and  take  disagreeable 
things  pleasantly  and  do  my  duty  in  the  multiplication 
table.  And  a  breath  of  rest  came  over  my  heart,  and 
a  sort  of  perfume  of  remembered  things  which  I  had 
forgotten ;  and  it  quite  changed  the  multiplication 
table  to  think  that  God  had  given  it  to  me  to  learn, 
and  so  that  some  good  would  certainly  come  of  learn 
ing  it ;  at  least  the  good  of  pleasing  him.  As  long  as 
I  dared  I  staid  on  my  knees ;  then  I  was  strong  for  the 
fives  and  sixes. 

But  it  was  not  quick  work ;  and  though  my  patience 
did  not  flag  again  nor  my  attention  fail,  the  afternoon 
was  well  on  the  way  before  I  was  dismissed.  I  had 
then  permission  to  do  what  I  liked.  Miss  Pinshon 
said  she  would  not  go  to  walk  that  day  ;  I  might  follow 
my  own  pleasure. 

I  must  have  been  very  tired ;  for  it  seemed  to  me 
there  was  hardly  any  pleasure  left  to  follow.  I  got  my 
flat  and  went  out.  The  sun  was  westing  ;  the  shadows 
stretched  among  the  evergreen  oaks  ;  the  outer  air  was 
sweet.  I  had  tried  to  find  Preston  first,  in  the  house  ;  but 
he  was  not  to  be  found  ;  and  all  alone  I  went  out  into 
the  sunshine.  It  wooed  me  on.  Sunshine  and  I  were 
always  at  home  together.  Without  knowing  that  I 
wanted  to  go  anywhere,  some  secret  attraction  drew 


56  DAISY. 

my  steps  towards  the  dell  where  I  had  seen  Darry.  I 
followed  one  of  several  well  beaten  paths  that  led  to 
wards  the  quarters  through  the  trees,  and  presently 
came  out  upon  the  stables  again.  All  along  the  dell 
the  sunshine  poured.  The  ground  was  kept  like  a 
pleasure  ground,  it  was  so  neat ;  the  grass  was  as  clean 
as  the  grass  of  a  park ;  the  little  stone  houses  scattered 
away  down  towards  the  river,  with  shade  trees  among 
them,  and  oaks  lining  the  sides  of  the  dell.  I  thought 
surely  Magnolia  was  a  lovely  place  !  if  only  my  father 
and  mother  had  been  there.  But  then,  seeing  the  many 
cottages,  my  trouble  of  the  morning  pressed  upon  me 
afresh.  So  many  people,  so  many  homes,  and  the  light 
of  the  Bible  not  on  them,  nor  in  them?  And,  child  as 
I  was,  and  little  as  I  knew,  I  knew  the  name  of  Christ 
too  unspeakably  precious,  for  me  to  think  without  a 
sore  heart,  that  all  these  people  were  without  what  was 
the  jewel  of  my  life.  And  they  my  mother's  servants  ! 
my  father's  dependents !  What  could  I  do  ? 

The  dell  was  alone  in  the  yellow  sunlight  which 
poured  over  the  slope  from  the  west ;  and  I  went  mus 
ing  on  till  getting  to  the  corner  of  the  stables  I  saw 
Darry  just  round  the  corner  grooming  a  black  horse. 
He  was  working  energetically  and  humming  to  him 
self  as  he  worked  a  refrain  which  I  learned  afterwards 
to  know  well.  All  I  could  make  out  was,  '  I'm  going 
home'  —  several  times  repeated.  I  came  near  before 
he  saw  me,  and  he  started ;  then  bid  me  good  evening 
and  '  hoped  I  found  Magnolia  a  pleasant  place.' 

Since  I  have  grown  older  I  have  read  that  wonderful 
story  of  Mrs.  Stowe's  Uncle  Tom  ;  he  reminded  me  of 
Darry  then,  and  now  I  never  think  of  the  one  without 
thinking  of  the  other.  But  Darry,  having  served  a 


THE   MULTIPLICATION  TABLE.  57 

different  class  of  people  from  Uncle  Tom's  first  owners, 
had  a  more  polished  stj'le  of  manners,  which  I  should 
almost  call  courtly  ;  and  he  was  besides  a  man  of 
higher  natural  parts,  and  somewhat  more  education. 
But  much  commerce  in  the  Court  which  is  above  all 
earthly  dignities,  no  doubt  had  more  to  do  with  his 
peculiarities  than  any  other  cause. 

I  asked  him  what  he  was  singing  about  home?  and 
where  his  home  was  ?  He  turned  his  face  full  on  me, 
letting  me  see  how  grave  and  gentle  his  eye  was,  and 
at  the  same  time  there  was  a  wistful  expression  in  it 
that  I  felt. 

4  Home  aint  nowheres  here,  missie,'  he  said.  I'm 
'spectin'  to  go  by  and  by/ 

'Do  you  mean  home  up  there? "  said  I,  lifting  my 
finger  towards  the  sky.  Darry  fairly  laughed. 

'  'Spect  don't  want  no  other  home,  missie.  Heaven 
good  enough/ 

I  stood  watching  him  as  he  rubbed  down  the  black 
horse,  feeling  surely  that  he  and  I  would  be  friends. 

'  Where  is  your  home  here,  Darry  ? ' 

'  I  got  a  place  down  there,  little  missie  —  not  fnr/ 

'  When  you  have  done  that  horse,  will  you  shew  me 
your  place  ?  I  want  to  see  where  you  live/ 

4  Missie  want  to  see  Darry's  house  ? '  said  he,  shew 
ing  his  white  teeth.  '  Missie  shall  see  what  she  mind 
to.  I  allus  keeps  Saddler  till  the  last,  'cause  he's 
ontractable/ 

The  black  horse  was  put  in  the  stable,  and  I  followed 
my  black  groom  down  among  'the  lines  of  stone  huts, 
to  which  the  working  parties  had  not  yet  returned. 
Darry's  house  was  one  of  the  lowest  in  the  dell,  out  of 
the  quadrangle,  and  had  a  glimpse  of  the  river.  It  stood 


58  DAISY. 

alone,  in  a  pretty  place,  but  something  about  it  did 
not  satisfy  me.  It  looked  square  and  bare.  The  stone 
walls  within  were  rough  as  the  stone-layer  had  left 
them ;  one  little  four-paned  window,  or  rather  case 
ment,  stood  open ;  and  the  air  was  sweet ;  for  Darry 
kept  his  place  scrupulously  neat  and  clean.  But  there 
was  not  much  to  be  kept.  A  low  bedstead  ;  a  wooden 
chest ;  an  odd  table  made  of  a  piece  of  board  on  three 
legs  ;  a  shelf  with  some  kitchen  ware  ;  that  was  all  the 
furniture.  On  the  odd  table  there  lay  a  Bible,  that 
had,  I  saw,  been  turned  over  many  a  time. 

'  Then  you  can  read,  uncle  Darry,'  I  said,  pitching 
on  the  only  thing  that  pleased  me. 

'  De  good  Lord,  he  give  me  dat  happiness/  the  man 
answered  gravely. 

4  And  you  love  Jesus,  Darry,'  I  said,  feeling  that  we 
had  better  come  to  an  understanding  as  soon  as 
possible.  His  answer  was  an  energetic 

'  Bress  de  Lord  !     Do  Miss  Daisy  love  him,  den?' 

I  would  have  said  yes  ;  I  did  say  yes,  I  believe  ;  but 
I  did  not  know  how  or  why,  at  this  question  there 
seemed  a  coming  together  of  gladness  and  pain  which 
took  away  my  breath.  My  head  dropped  on  Darry's 
little  window-sill,  and  my  tears  rushed  forth,  like  the 
head  of  water  behind  a  broken  mill-dam.  Darry  was 
startled  and  greatly  concerned.  He  wanted  to  know 
if  I  was  not  well  —  if  I  would  send  him  for  l  su'thing ' 
—  I  could  only  shake  my  head  and  weep.  I  think 
Darry  was  the  only  creature  at  Magnolia  before  whom 
I  would  have  so  broken  down.  But  somehow  I  felt 
safe  with  Darry.  The  tears  cleared  away  from  my 
voice  after  a  little  ;  and  I  went  on  with  my  inquiries 
again.  It  was  a  good  chance. 


THE   AfULrrPLICATION   TABLE.  59 

'Uncle  Darry,  does  no  one  else  but  you  read  the 
Bible?' 

He  looked  dark  and  troubled.  4Missie  sees  —  de 
folks  for  most  part  got  no  learnin'.  Dey  no  read, 
sure.' 

4  Do  you  read  the  Bible  to  them,  Darry?' 

4  Miss  Daisy  knows,  dere  aint  no  great  time.  Dey's 
In  de  field  all  day,  most  days,  and  dey  hab  no  time 
for  to  hear.' 

'But  Sundays?  — '  I  said. 

4  Do  try,'  —  he  said,  looking  graver  yet.  '  Me  do 
'tempt  su'thin'.  But  missie  knows,  de  Sabbat'  be  de 
only  day  de  people  hab,  and  dey  tink  mostly  of  oder 
tings.' 

1  And  there  is  no  church  for  you  all  to  go  to  ? ' 

4  No,  missis  ;  no  church.' 

There  was  a  sad  tone  in  this  answer.  I  did  not 
know  how  to  go  on.  I  turned  to  something  else. 

'  Uncle  Darry,  I  don't  think  your  home  looks  very 
comfortable.' 

Darry  almost  laughed  at  that.  He  said  it  was  good 
enough  ;  would  last  very  well  a  little  while  longer.  I 
insisted  that  it  was  not  comfortable.  It  was  cold. 

4  Sun  warm,  Miss  Daisy.  De  good  Lord,  he  make 
his  sun  warm.  And  dere  be  fires  enough.' 

*  But  it  is  very  empty,'  I  said.  4  You  want  some 
thing  more  in  it,  to  make  it  look  nice.' 

4  It  never  empty,  Miss  Daisy,  when  de  Lord  hisself 
be  here.  And  he  not  leave  his  chil'n  alone.  Miss 
Daisy  know  dat  ? ' 

I  stretched  forth  my  little  hand  and  laid  it  in  Darry's 
great  black  palm.  There  was  an  absolute  confidence 
established  between  us. 


60  DAISY. 

4  Uncle  Darry '  —  I  said,  c  I  do  love  him  —  but  some 
times,  I  want  to  see  papa ! '  — 

And  therewith  my  self-command  was  almost  gone. 
I  stood  with  full  eyes  and  quivering  lips,  ray  hand  still 
in  Darry's,  who  on  his  part  was  speechless  with 
sympathy. 

4  De  time  pass  quick,  and  Miss  Daisy  see  her  pa'/  — 
he  said  at  last. 

I  did  not  think  the  time  passed  quick.     I  said  so. 

'  Do  little  missie  ask  de  Lord  for  help?  '  Darry  said, 
his  eyes  by  this  time  as  watery  as  mine.  '  Do  Miss 
Daisy  know,  it  nebber  lonesome  where  de  Lord  be?  he 
so  good.' 

I  could  not  stand  any  more.  I  pulled  away  my 
hand  and  stood  still,  looking  out  of  the  window  and 
seeing  nothing,  till  I  could  make  myself  quiet.  Then 
I  changed  the  subject  and  told  Darry  I  should  like  to 
go  and  see  some  of  the  other  houses  again.  I  know 
now,  I  can  see,  looking  back,  how  my  childish  self- 
control  and  reserve  made  some  of  those  impulsive  na 
tures  around  me  regard  me  with  something  like 
worshipful  reverence.  I  felt  it  then,  without  thinking 
of  it  or  reasoning  about  it.  From  Darry,  and  from 
Margaret,  and  from  mammy  Theresa,  and  from  several 
others,  I  had  a  loving,  tender  reverence,  which  not 
only  felt  for  me  as  a  sorrowful  child,  but  bowed  before 
me  as  something  of  higher  and  stronger  nature  than 
themselves.  Darry  silently  attended  me  now  from 
house  to  house  of  the  quarters ;  introducing  and  ex 
plaining  and  doing  all  he  could  to  make  my  progress 
interesting  and  amusing.  Interested  I  was  ;  but  most 
certainly  not  amused.  I  did  nol  like  the  look  of  things 
any  better  than  I  had  done  at  first.  •  The  places  were 


THE   MULTIPLICATION   TABLE.  61 

not  '  nice ; '  there  was  a  coarse,  uncared-for  air  of 
everything  within,  although  the  outside  was  in  such 
well  dressed  condition.  No  litter  on  the  grass,  no 
untidiness  of  walls  or  chimneys ;  and  no  seeming  of 
comfortable  homes  when  the  door  was  opened.  The 
village,  for  it  amounted  to  that,  was  almost  deserted 
at  that  hour ;  onl}7  a  few  crooning  old  women  on  the 
sunny  side  of  a  wall,  and  a  few  half-grown  girls,  and  a 
quantity  of  little  children,  depending  for  all  the  care 
they  got  upon  one  or  the  other  of  these. 

4  Haven't  all  these  little  babies  got  mothers  ? '  I 
asked. 

4  For  sure,  Miss  Daisy  —  dey's  got  modders.' 

4  Where  are  the  mothers  of  all  these  babies,  Darry  ?  ' 
I  asked. 

4  Dey's  in  de  field,  Miss  Daisy.     Home  d'rectly.' 

'  Are  they  working  like  men,  in  the  fields  ? '  I 
asked. 

4  Dey's  all  at  work/  said  Darry. 

4  Do  they  do  the  same  work  as  the  men  ? ' 

4  All  alike,  Miss  Daisy/  Darry's  answers  were  not 
hearty. 

4  But  don't  their  little  babies  want  them  ? '  said  I, 
looking  at  a  group  of  girls  in  whose  hands  were  some 
very  little  babies  indeed.  I  think  Darry  made  me  no 
answer. 

4  But  if  the  men  and  women  both  work  out,'  I  went 
on,  4  papa  must  give  them  a  great  deal  of  money ;  I 
should  think  they  would  have  things  more  comfortable, 
Darry.  Why  don't  they  have  little  carpets,  and  tables 
and  chairs,  and  cups  and  saucers?  Hardly  anybody 
has  teacups  and  saucers.  Have  you  got  any,  uncle 
Darry  ?' 


62  DAISY. 

'  Spoct  I'se  no  good  woman  to  brew  de  tea  for  her 
ole  man,'  said  Darry ;  but  I  thought  he  looked  at  me 
veiy  oddly. 

4  Couldn't  you  make  it  for  yourself,  uncle  Darry  ? ' 

4  Poor  folks  don't  live  just  like  de  rich  folks,'  he 
answered  quietly,  after  a  minute's  pause.  '  And  I 
don't  count  fur  to  want  no  good  t'ing,  missie.' 

I  went  on  with  my  observations ;  my  questions  I 
thought  I  would  not  push  any  further  at  that  time.  I 
grew  more  and  more  dissatisfied,  that  my  father's 
work-people  should  live  in  no  better  style  and  in  no 
better  comfort.  Even  Molly  Skelton  had  a  furnished 
and  appointed  house,  compared  with  these  little  bare 
stone  huts  ;  and  mothers  that  would  leave  their  babies 
for  the  sake  of  more  wages  must,  I  thought,  be  very 
barbarous  mothers.  This  was  all  because,  no  doubt, 
of  having  no  church  and  no  Bible.  I  grew  weary.  As 
we  were  going  up  the  dell  towards  the  stables,  I 
suddenly  remembered  my  pony ;  and  I  asked  to  see 
him. 

Darry  was  much  relieved,  I  fancy,  to  have  me  come 
back  to  a  child's  sphere  of  action.  He  had  out  the  fat 
little  grey  pony  and  talked  it  over  to  me  with  great 
zeal.  It  came  into  my  head  to  ask  for  a  saddle. 

4  Dere  be  a  saddle '  —  Darry  said  doubtfully  — 
'Massa  Preston  he  done  got  a  saddle  dis  very  day. 
Dunno  where  massa  Preston  can  be.' 

I  did  not  heed  this.  I  begged  to  have  the  saddle 
and  be  allowed  to  try  the  pony.  Now  Preston  had 
laid  a  plan  that  nobody  but  himself  should  have  the 
pleasure  of  first  mounting  me  ;  but  I  did  not  know  of 
this  plan.  Darry  hesitated,  I  saw,  but  he  had  not  the 


THE   MULTIPLICATION  TABLE.  63 

power  to  refuse  me.     The  saddle  was  brought  out,  put 
on,  and  carefully  arranged. 

'  Uncle  Darry,  I  want  to  get  on  him  —  may  I  ? ' 
4  O'  course  —  Miss  Daisy  do  what  she  mind  to.    Him 
bery  good,  only  some  lazy.' 

So  I  was  mounted.  Preston,  Miss  Pinshon,  the 
servants'  quarters,  the  multiplication  table,  all  were 
forgotten  and  lost  in  a  misty  distance.  I  was  in  the 
saddle  for  the  first  time,  and  delight  held  me  by  both 
hands.  My  first  moment  on  horseback  !  If  Darry  had 
guessed  it  he  would  have  been  terribly  concerned  ;  but, 
as  it  happened,  I  knew  how  to  take  my  seat ;  I  had 
watched  my  mother  so  often  mounting  her  horse  that 
every  detail  was  familiar  to  me ;  and  Darry  naturally 
supposed  I  knew  what  I  was  about  after  I  was  in  my 
seat.  The  reins  were  a  little  confusing  ;  however,  the 
pony  walked  off  lazily  with  me  to  the  head  of  the  glen, 
and  I  thought  he  was  an  improvement  upon  the  old 
pony  chaise.  Finding  myself  coming  out  upon  the 
avenue,  which  I  did  not  wish,  it  became  necessary  to 
get  at  the  practical  use  of  iny  bridle.  I  was  at  some 
pains  to  do  it ;  finally  I  managed  to  turn  the  pony's 
head  round,  and  we  walked  back  in  the  same  sober 
style  we  had  come  up.  Darry  stood  by  the  stables, 
smiling  and  watching  me ;  down  among  the  quarters 
the  children  and  old  people  turned  out  to  look  after 
me ;  I  walked  down  as  far  as  Darry's  house,  turned 
and  came  back  again.  Darry  stood  ready  to  help  me 
dismount ;  but  it  was  too  pleasant.  I  went  on  to  the 
avenue.  Just  as  I  turned  there,  I  caught,  as  it  seemed 
to  me,  a  glimpse  of  two  ladies,  coming  towards  me 
from  the  house.  Involuntarily  I  gave  a  sharper  pull  at 
the  bridle,  and  I  suppose  touched  the  pony's  shoulder 


64  DAISY. 

with  the  switch  Darry  had  put  into  my  hand.  The 
touch  so  woke  him  up,  that  he  shook  off  his  laziness 
and  broke  into  a  short  galloping  canter  to  go  back 
to  the  stables.  This  was  a  new  experience.  I  thought 
for  the  first  minute  that  I  certainly  should  be  thrown 
off;  I  seemed  to  have  no  hold  of  anything,  and  I  was 
tossed  up  and  down  on  my  saddle  in  a  way  that  boded 
a  landing  on  the  ground  every  next  time. 

I  was  not  timid  with  animals,  whatever  might  be 
true  of  me  in  other  relations.  My  first  comfort  was 
finding  that  I  did  not  fall  off ;  then  I  took  heart,  and 
settled  myself  in  the  saddle  more  securely,  gave  my 
self  to  the  motion,  and  began  to  think  I  should  like  it 
b}7"  and  b}^.  Nevertheless,  for  this  time  I  was  willing 
to  stop  at  the  stables ;  but  the  pony  had  only  just 
found  how  good  it  was  to  be  moving,  and  he  went  by 
at  full  canter.  Down  the  dell,  through  the  quarters, 
past  the  cottages,  till  I  saw  Dairy's  house  ahead  of  me, 
and  began  to  think  how  I  should  get  round  again.  At 
that  pace  I  could  not.  Could  I  stop  the  fellow?  I 
tried,  but  there  was  not  much  strength  in  my  arms ; 
one  or  two  pulls  did  no  good,  and  one  or  two  pulls 
more  did  no  good ;  pony  cantered  on,  and  I  saw  we 
were  making  straight  for  the  river.  I  knew  then  I 
must  stop  him ;  I  threw  so  much  good  will  into  the 
handling  of  my  reins  that,  to  my  joy,  the  pony  paused, 
let  himself  be  turned  about  placidly,  and  took  up  his 
leisurely  walk  again.  But  now  I  was  in  a  hurr}-, 
wanting  to  be  dismounted  before  anybod}^  should 
come ;  and  I  was  a  little  triumphant,  having  kept  my 
seat  and  turned  my  horse.  Moreover,  the  walk  was 
not  good  after  that  stirring  canter.  I  would  try  it 
again.  But  it  took  a  little  earnestness  now  and  more 


THE  MULTIPLICATION   TABLE.  65 

than  one  touch  of  my  whip  before  the  pony  would  mind 
me.  Then  he  obeyed  in  good  style  and  we  cantered 
quietly  up  to  where  Darry  was  waiting.  The  thing 
was  done.  The  pony  and  I  had  come  to  an  under 
standing.  I  was  a  rider  from  that  time,  without  fear 
or  uncertainty.  The  first  gentle  pull  on  the  bridle 
was  obeyed  and  I  came  to  a  stop  in  front  of  Darry  and 
my  cousin  Preston. 

I  have  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  to  tell  of  my  ride. 
Yet  not  more  than  its  place  in  my  life  then  deserved. 
It  was  my  last  half  hour  of  pleasure  for  I  think  many 
a  day.  I  had  cantered  up  the  slope,  all  fresh  in  mind 
and  body,  excited  and  glad  with  my  achievement  and 
with  the  pleasure  of  brisk  motion ;  I  had  forgotten 
everybody  and  everything  disagreeable,  or  what  I  did 
not  forget  I  disregarded ;  but  just  before  I  stopped  I 
saw  what  sent  another  thrill  than  that  of  pleasure 
tingling  through  all  my  veins.  I  saw  Preston,  who  had 
but  a  moment  before  reached  the  stables,  I  saw  him 
lift  his  hand  with  a  light  riding  switch  he  carried,  and 
draw  the  switch  across  Darry's  mouth.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  coloured  man's  face,  as  he  stepped  back  a 
pace  or  two.  I  understood  it  afterwards ;  I  felt  it 
then.  There  was  no  resentment ;  there  was  no  fire  of 
anger,  which  I  should  have  expected ;  there  was  no 
manly  and  no  stolid  disregard  of  what  had  been  done. 
There  was  instead  a  slight  smile,  which  to  this  day  I 
cannot  bear  to  recall ;  it  spoke  so  much  of  patient 
and  helpless  humiliation ;  as  of  one  wincing  at  the 
galling  of  a  sore  and  trying  not  to  shew  he  winced. 
Preston  took  me  off  my  horse,  and  began  to  speak.  I 
turned  away  from  him  to  Darry,  who  now  held  two 
horses,  Preston  having  just  dismounted ;  and  I  thanked 
6* 


66  DAISY. 

him  for  my  pleasure,  throwing  into  my  manner  all  the 
studied  courtesy  I  could.  Then  I  walked  up  the  dell 
beside  Preston,  without  looking  at  him. 

Preston  scolded.  He  had  prepared  a  surprise  for 
me,  and  was  excited  by  his  disappointment  at  my 
mounting  without  him.  Of  course  I  had  not  known 
that;  and  Darry,  who  was  in  the  secret,  had  not 
known  how  to  refuse  me.  I  gave  Preston  no  answer 
to  his  charges  and  reproaches.  At  last  I  said  I  was 
tired  and  I  wished  he  would  not  talk. 

'  Tired  !  you  are  something  besides  tired,'  he  said. 

c  I  suppose  I  am,'  I  answered  with  great  delibera 
tion. 

He  was  eager  to  know  what  it  was ;  but  then  we 
came  out  upon  the  avenue  and  were  met  flush  by  my 
aunt  and  Miss  Pinshon.  My  aunt  inquired,  and  Pres 
ton,  who  was  by  no  means  cool  yet,  accused  me  about 
the  doings  of  the  afternoon.  I  scarcely  heeded  one  or 
the  other ;  but  I  did  feel  Miss  Pinshon's  taking  my 
hand  and  leading  me  home  all  the  rest  of  the  way.  It 
was  not  that  I  wanted  to  talk  to  Preston,  for  I  was  not 
ready  to  talk  to  him  ;  but  this  holding  me  like  a  little 
child  was  excessively  distasteful  to  my  habit  of  free 
dom.  My  governess  would  not  loose  her  clasp  when 
we  got  to  the  house ;  but  kept  fast  hold  and  led  me  up 
stairs  to  my  own  room. 


SEVEN  HUNDRED    PEOPLE.  67 


CHAPTER    IV. 

SEVEN    HUNDRED    PEOPLE. 

'Do   you   think   that   was   a  proper  thing  to    do, 
Daisy  ? '   my  governess  asked  when  she  released  me. 
'  What  thing,  ma'am?'  I  asked. 

*  To  tear  about  alone  on  that  great  grey  pony.' 
'  Yes,  ma'am,'  I  said. 

'  You   think  it  was   proper  ? '    said    Miss   Pinshon 
coolly.     *  Whom  had  you  with  you  ? ' 
'  Nobody  was  riding  with  me.' 
'Your  cousin  was  there?' 

•  No,  ma'am.' 
'Who  then?' 

'  I  had  uncle  Darry.  I  was  only  riding  up  and 
clown  the  dell.' 

'  The  coachman !  And  were  you  riding  up  and 
down  through  the  quarters  all  the  afternoon?' 

'  No,  ma'am.' 

'  What  were  you  doing  the  rest  of  the  time  ? ' 

'  I  was  going  about  — '  I  hesitated.   • 

'  About  where  ? ' 

'  Through  the  place  there.' 

'  The  quarters  ?  Well,  you  think  it  proper  amuse 
ment  for  your  mother's  daughter?  You  are  not  to 
make  companions  of  the  servants,  Daisy.  You  are  not 
to  go  to  the  quarters  without  my  permission,  and  I 


68  DAISY. 

shall  not  give*  it  frequently.  Now  get  yourself  ready 
for  tea.' 

I  did  feel  as  if  Preston's  prophecy  were  coming  true 
and  I  in  a  way  to  be  gradually  petrified ;  some  slow, 
chill  work  of  that  kind  seemed  already  to  be  going  on. 
But  a  little  thing  soon  stirred  all  the  life  there  was  in 
me.  Miss  Pinshon  stepped  to  the  door  which  led 
from  her  room  into  mine,  unlocked  it,  took  out  the  key, 
and  put  it  on  her  own  side  of  the  door.  I  sprang 
forward  at  that,  with  a  word,  I  do  not  know  what ; 
and  my  governess  turned  her  lustrous,  unmoved  eyes 
calmly  upon  me.  I  remember  now  how  deadening 
their  look  was,  in  their  very  lustre  and  moveless  calm. 
I  begged  however  for  a  reversal  of  her  last  proceeding ; 
I  wanted  my  door  locked  sometimes,  I  said. 

'  You  can  lock  the  other  door.' 

1  But  I  want  both  locked.' 

4 1  do  not.  This  door  remains  open,  Daisy.  I  must 
come  in  here  when  I  please.  Now  make  haste  and  get 
ready.' 

I  had  no  time  for  anything  but  to  obey.  I  went 
down  stairs,  I  think,  like  a  machine ;  my  body  obey 
ing  certain  laws,  while  my  mind  and  spirit  were 
scarcely  present.  I  suppose  I  behaved  myself  as  usual ; 
save  that  I  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  Preston, 
nor  would  I  receive  anything  whatever  at  the  table 
from  his  hand.'  This  however  was  known  only  to 
him  and  me.  I  said  nothing  ;  not  the  less  every  word 
that  others  said  fastened  itself  in  my  memory.  I  was 
like  a  person  dreaming. 

'  You  have  just  tired  yourself  with  mounting  that 
wild  thing,  Daisy,'  said  my  aunt  Gary. 


SEVEN  HUNDRED   PEOPLE.  69 

4  Wild  ! '  said  Preston.  *  About  as  wild  as  a  tame 
sloth/ 

4 1  always  heard  that  was  very  wild  indeed,'  said 
Miss  Pinshon.  '  The  sloth  cannot  be  tamed,  can  it?' 

4  Being  stupid  already,  I  suppose  not,'  said  Preston. 

4  Daisy  looks  pale  at  any  rate,'  said  my  aunt. 

'  A  little  overdone,'  said  Miss  Pinshon.  '  She  wants 
regular  exercise  ;  but  irregular  exercise  is  very  trying 
to  any  but  a  strong  person.  I  think  Daisy  will  be 
stronger  in  a  few  weeks.' 

'  What  sort  of  exercise  do  you  think  will  be  good  for 
her,  rna'am?'  Preston  said,  with  an  expression  out  of 
all  keeping  with  his  words,  it  was  so  fierce. 

'  I  shall  try  different  sorts,'  my  governess  answered 
composedly.  '  Exercise  of  patience  is  a  very  good 
thing,  Master  Gary.  I  think  gymnastics  will  be  use 
ful  for  Daisy,  too.  I  shall  try  them.' 

4  That  is  what  I  have  often  said  to  my  sister/  said 
aunt  Gary.  4 1  have  no  doubt  that  sort  of  training 
would  establish  Daisy's  strength  more  than  anything 
in  the  world.  She  just  wants  that,  to  develop  her 
and  bring  out  the  muscles.' 

Preston  almost  groaned ;  pushed  his  chair  from  the 
table,  and  I  knew  sat  watching  me.  I  would  give  him 
no  opportunit}r,  for  my  opportunity  I  could  not  have 
then.  I  kept  quiet  till  the  ladies  moved  ;  I  moved 
with  them ;  and  sat  all  the  evening  abstracted  in  my 
own  meditations,  without  paying  Preston  any  atten 
tion  ;  feeling  indeed  very  old  and  grey,  as  no  doubt  J 
looked.  When  I  was  ordered  to  bed,  Miss  Pinshor 
desired  I  would  hold  no  conversation  with  anybody 
Whereupon  Preston  took  my  candle  and  boldh 
marched  out  of  the  room  with  me.  When  we  wrere  u' 


70  DAISY. 

stairs,  he  tried  to  make  me  disobey  my  orders.  He 
declared  I  was  turning  to  stone  already ;  he  said  a 
great  many  hard  words  against  my  governess  ;  threat 
ened  he  would  write  to  my  father  ;  and  when  he  could 
not  prevail  to  make  me  talk,  dashed  off  passionately 
and  left  me.  I  went  trembling  into  my  room.  But  my 
refuge  there  was  gone.  I  had  fallen  upon  evil  times. 
My  door  must  not  be  locked,  and  Miss  Pinshon  might 
come  in  any  minute.  I  could  not  pray.  I  undressed 
and  went  to  bed  ;  and  lay  there,  waiting,  all  things  in 
order,  till  my  governess  looked  in.  Then  the  door  was 
closed,  and  I  heard  her  steps  moving  about  in  her 
room.  I  lay  and  listened.  At  last  the  door  was 
softly  set  open  again ;  and  then  after  a  few  minutes 
the  sound  of  regular  slow  breathing  proclaimed  that 
those  wide-open  black  eyes  were  really  closed  for  the 
night.  I  got  up,  went  to  my  governess's  door  and  lis 
tened.  She  was  sleeping  profoundly.  I  laid  hold  of 
the  handle  of  the  door  and  drew  it  towards  me  ;  pulled 
out  the  key  softly,  put  it  in  my  own  side  of  the  lock 
and  shut  the  door.  And  after  all  I  was  afraid  to  turn 
the  key.  The  wicked  sound  of  the  lock  might  enter 
those  sleeping  ears.  But  the  door  was  closed  ;  and  I 
went  to  my  old  place,  the  open  window.  It  was  not 
my  window  at  Melbourne,  with  balmy  summer  air,  and 
the  dewy  scent  of  the  honeysuckle  coming  up,  and  the 
moonlight  flooding  all  the  world  beneath  me.  But 
neither  was  it  in  the  regions  of  the  North.  The  night 
was  still  and  mild,  if  not  balmy ;  and  the  stars  were 
brilliant ;  and  the  evergreen  oaks  were  masses  of  dark 
shadow  all  over  the  lawn.  I  do  not  think  I  saw  them 
at  first ;  for  my  look  was  up  to  the  sky,  where  the  stars 
shone  down  to  greet  me,  and  where  it  was  furthest 


HUNDRED   PEOPLE.  71 


from  all  the  troubles  on  the  surface  of  the  earth  ;  and 
with  one  thought  of  the  Friend  up  there,  who  does 
not  forget  the  troubles  of  even  his  little  children,  the 
barrier  in  my  heart  gave  way,  my  tears  gushed  forth  ; 
my  head  lay  on  the  windowsill  at  Magnolia,  more 
hopelessly  than  in  my  childish  sorrow  it  had  ever  lain 
at  Melbourne.  I  kept  my  sobs  quiet  ;  I  must  ;  but 
they  were  deep,  heart-breaking  sobs,  for  a  long  time. 

Prayer  got  its  chance  after  a  while.  I  had  a  great 
deal  to  pray  for  ;  it  seemed  to  my  child's  heart  now 
and  then  as  if  it  could  hardly  bear  its  troubles.  And 
very  much  I  felt  I  wanted  patience  and  wisdom.  I 
thought  there  was  a  great  deal  to  do,  even  for  my 
little  hands  ;  and  promise  of  great  hindrance  and  oppo 
sition.  And  the  only  one  pleasant  thing  I  could  think 
of  in  my  new  life  at  Magnolia,  was  that  I  might  tell 
of  the  truth  to  those  poor  people  who  lived  in  the 
negro  quarters. 

Why  I  did  not  make  myself  immediately  ill,  with  my 
night's  vigils  and  sorrow,  I  cannot  tell  ;  unless  it  were 
that  great  excitement  kept  off  the  effects  of  chill  air 
and  damp.  However,  the  excitement  had  its  own 
effects  ;  and  my  eyes  were  sadly  heavy  when  they 
opened  the  next  morning  to  look  at  Margaret  lighting 
my  fire. 

'  Margaret,'  I  said,  *  shut  Miss  Pinshon's  door,  will 
you?' 

She  obeyed,  and  then  turning  to  look  at  me  ex 
claimed  that  I  was  not  well. 

4  Did  you  say  you  could  not  read,  Margaret?'  waa 
my  answer. 

'  Head  !  no,  missis.     Guess  readin'  aint  no  good  for 


72  DAIS  Y. 

servants.  Seems  like  Miss  Daisy  aint  lookin'  peart, 
this  morn  in  V 

4  Would  you  like  to  read?  ' 

4  Reckon  don't  care  about  it,  Miss  Daisy.  Where'd 
us  get  books,  most  likely  ? ' 

I  said  I  would  get  the  books ;  but  Margaret  turned 
to  the  fire  and  made  me  no  answer.  I  heard  her  mut 
ter  some  ejaculation. 

4  Because,  Margaret,  don't  you  know,'  I  said,  raising 
myself  on  my  elbow,  '  God  would  like  to  have  you 
learn  to  read,  so  that  you  might  know  the  Bible  and 
come  to  heaven.' 

4  Reckon  folks  aint  a  heap  better  that  knows  the 
Bible,'  said  the  girl.  4  Tears  as  if  it  don't  make  no 
difference.  Aint  nobody  good  in  this  place,  'cept 
uncle  Darry.' 

In  another  minute  I  was  out  of  bed  and  standing 
before  the  fire,  my  hand  on  her  shoulder.  I  told  her  I 
wanted  her  to  be  good  too,  and  that  Jesus  would  make 
her  good,  if  she  would  let  him.  Margaret  gave  me  a 
hasty  look  and  then  finished  her  fire  making ;  but  to 
my  great  astonishment,  a  few  minutes  after,  I  saw  that 
the  tears  were  running  down  the  girl's  face.  It  as 
tonished  me  so  much  that  I  said  no  more  ;  and  Marga 
ret  was  as  silent ;  only  dressed  me  with  the  greatest 
attention  and  tenderness. 

4  Ye  want  your  breakfast  bad,  Miss  Daisy,'  she  re 
marked  then  in  a  subdued  tone ;  and  I  suppose  my 
looks  justified  her  words.  They  created  some  excite 
ment  when  I  went  down  stairs.  My  aunt  exclaimed  ; 
Miss  Pinshon  inquired  ;  Preston  inveighed,  at  things  in 
general.  He  wanted  to  get  me  by  myself,  I  knew : 


SEVEN  HUNDRED   PEOPLE.  73 

but  he  had  no  chance.  Immediately  after  breakfast 
Miss  Pinshon  took  possession  of  me. 

The  day  was  less  weary  than  the  day  before,  only  I 
think  because  I  was  tired  beyond  impatience  or  ner 
vous  excitement.  Not  much  was  done ;  for  though  I 
was  very  willing  I  had  very  little  power.  But  the 
multiplication  table,  Miss  Pinshon  said,  was  easy 
work ;  and  at  that  and  reading  and  writing,  the  morn 
ing  crept  away.  My  hand  was  trembling,  my  voice 
was  faint ;  my  memory  grasped  nothing  so  clearly  as 
Margaret's  tears  that  morning,  and  Preston's  behav 
iour  the  preceding  day.  My  cheeks  were  pale  of 
course.  Miss  Pinshon  said  we  would  begin  to  set  that 
right  with  a  walk  after  dinner. 

The  walk  was  had ;  but  with  my  hand  clasped  in 
Miss  Pinshon' s  I  only  wished  myself  at  home  all  the 
way.  At  home  again,  after  a  while  of  lying  down  to 
rest,  I  was  tried  with  a  beginning  of  calisthenics.  A 
trial  it  was  to  me.  The  exercises,  directed  and  over 
seen  by  Miss  Pinshon,  seemed  to  me  simply  in 
tolerable  ;  a  weariness  beyond  all  other  weariness. 
Even  the  multiplication  table  I  liked  better.  Miss 
Pinshon  was  tired  perhaps  herself  at  last.  She  let  me 
go. 

It  was  towards  the  end  of  the  day.  With  no  life 
left  in  me  for  anything,  I  strolled  out  into  the  sun 
shine  ;  aimlessly  at  first ;  then  led  b^  a  secret  in 
clination  I  hardly  knew  or  questioned,  my  steps  slowly 
made  their  way  round  by  the  avenue  to  the  stables. 
Darry  was  busy  there  as  I  had  found  him  yesterday. 
He  looked  hard  at  me  as  I  came  up ;  and  asked  me 
earnestly  how  I  felt  that  afternoon?  I  told  him  I  was 
tired ;  and  then  I  sat  down  on  a  huge  log  which  lay 
7 


74  DAISY. 

there  and  watched  him  at  his  work.  By  turns  I 
watched  the  sunlight  streaming  along  the  turf  and 
lighting  the  foliage  of  the  trees  on  the  other  side  of  the 
dell ;  looking  in  a  kind  of  dream,  as  if  I  were  not 
Daisy  nor  this  Magnolia  in  any  reality.  I  suddenly 
started  and  awoke  to  realities  as  Darry  began  to 
sing,  — 

'  My  Father's  house  is  built  on  high, 
'Far,  far  above  the  starry  sky; 
'  And  though  like  Lazarus  sick  and  poor, 
'  My  heavenly  mansion  is  secure. 

'  I'm  going  home,  — 

'  I'm  going  home,  — 

'I'm  going  home 
'To  die  no  more! 

'  To  die  no  more  — 

'  To  die  no  more  — 

'I'm  going  home 

'To  die  no  more!' 


The  word  '  home '  at  the  end  of  each  line  was  dwelt 
upon  in  a  prolonged  sonorous  note.  It  filled  my  ear 
with  its  melodious,  plaintive  breath  of  repose ;  it 
rested  and  soothed  me.  I  was  listening  in  a  sort  of 
trance,  when  another  sound  at  my  side  both  stopped 
the  song  and  quite  broke  up  the  effect.  It  was  Pres 
ton's  voice.  Now  for  it.  He  was  all  ready  for  a 
fight ;  and  I  fe'lt  miserably  battered  and  shaken  and 
unfit  to  fight  anj^thing. 

4  What  are  you  doing  here,  Daisy  ? ' 

4 1  am  doing  nothing/  I  said. 

4  It  is  almost  tea-time.  Hadn't  you  better  be  walk 
ing  come,  before  Medusa  comes  looking  out  for  you  ?  ' 

I  rose  up,  and  bade  uncle  Darry  good  night. 


SEVEN  HUNDRED  PEOPLE.  75 

4  Good  night,  missis  ! '  he  said  heartily  —  '  and  de 
Doming  dat  hab  no  night,  for  my  dear  little  missis, 
by'm  by.' 

I  gave  him  my  hand,  and  walked  on. 

*  Stuff! '  muttered  Preston  by  my  side. 

4  You  will  not  think  it  "  stuff"  when  the  time  comes/ 
I  said,  no  doubt  very  gravely.  Then  Preston  burst 
out. 

I 1  only  wish    aunt   Felicia   was   here !     You  will 
spoil  these  people,  Daisy,  that's  one  thing ;    or  you 
would  if  you  were  older.     As  it  is,  you  are  spoiling 
yourself.' 

I  made  no  answer.  He  went  on  with  other  angry 
and  excited  words,  wishing  to  draw  me  out  perhaps ; 
but  I  was  in  no  mood  to  talk  to  Preston  in  any  tone 
but  one.  I  went  steadily  and  slowly  on,  without  even 
turning  my  head  to  look  at  him.  I  had  hardly  life 
enough  to  talk  to  him  in  that  tone. 

4  Will  you  tell  me  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ? '  he 
said  at  last,  very  impatiently. 

4 1  am  tired,  I  think/ 

4  Think?  Medusa  is  stiffening  the  life  out  of  you. 
Think  you  are  tired !  You  are  tired  to  death ;  but 
that  is  not  all.  What  ails  you? ' 

4 1  do  not  think  anything  ails  me.' 

4  What  ails  me,  then?  What  is  the  matter?  what 
makes  you  act  so  ?  Speak,  Daisy  —  you  must  speak  ! ' 

I  turned  about  and  faced  him,  and  I  know  I  did  not 
speak  then  as  a  child,  but  with  a  gravity  befitting  fifty 
years. 

4  Preston,  did  you  strike  uncle  Darry  yesterday  ? ' 

4  Pooh  ! '  said  Preston.  But  I  stood  and  waited  for 
his  answer. 


76  DAISY. 

'Nonsense,  Daisy  ! '  he  said  again. 

'What  is  nonsense?' 

4  Why,  you.    What  are  you  talking  about  ? ' 

4  I  asked  you  a  question/ 

4  A  ridiculous  question.     You  are  just  absurd.' 

4  Will  you  please  to  answer  it  ?  ' 

*  I  don't  know  whether  I  will.  What  have  you  tG  do 
With  it?' 

4  In  the  first  place,  Preston,  Darry  is  not  your 
servant.' 

1  Upon  my  word  ! '  said  Preston.  *  But  yes,  he  is  ; 
for  mamma  is  regent  here  now.  He  must  do  what  I 
order  him,  anyhow.' 

'  And  then,  Preston,  Darry  is  better  than  you,  and 
will  not  defend  himself;  and  somebody  ought  to  de 
fend  him ;  and  there  is  nobody  but  me.' 

4  Defend  himself! '  echoed  Preston. 

4  Yes.     You  insulted  him  yesterday/ 

4  Insulted  him  ! ' 

1  You  know  you  did.  You  know,  Preston,  some 
men  would  not  have  borne  it.  If  Darry  had  been  like 
some  men,  he  would  have  knocked  you  down/ 

4  Knock  me  down ! '  cried  Preston.  4  The  sneaking 
old  scoundrel !  He  knows  that  I  would  shoot  him  if 
he  did/ 

4 1  am  speaking  seriously,  Preston.  It  is  no  use  to 
talk  that  way/ 

4 1  am  speaking  very  seriously,'  said  my  cousin.  4 1 
would  shoot  him,  upon  my  honour/ 

4  Shoot  him  ! ' 

4  Certainly/ 

4  What  right  have  you  to  shoot  a  man  for  doing  no 
worse  than  you  do  ?  I  would  rather  somebody  would 


SEVEN  HUNDRED   PEOPLE.  77 

knock  me  down,  than  do  what  you  did  yesterday!' 
And  my  heart  swelled  within  me. 

4  Come  Daisy,  be  a  little  sensible ! '  said  Preston, 
who  was  in  a  fume  of  impatience.  '  Do  you  think 
there  is  no  difference  between  me  and  an  old  nigger  ? ' 

*  A  great  deal  of  difference/  I  said.  i  He  is  old  and 
good ;  and  you  are  young,  and  I  wish  you  were  as 
good  as  Darry.  And  then  he  can't  help  himself  with 
out  perhaps  losing  his  place,  no  matter  how  you  insult 
him.  I  think  it  is  cowardly.' 

'  Insult ! '  said  Preston.  '  Lose  his  place  !  Heavens 
and  earth,  Daisy  !  are  you  such  a  simpleton?  ' 

'  You  insulted  him  very  badly  yesterday.  I 
wondered  how  he  bore  it  of  you ;  only  Darry  is  a 
Christian.' 

1  A  fiddlestick  !  '  said  Preston  impatiently.  '  He 
knows  he  must  bear  whatever  I  choose  to  give  him  ;  and 
therein  he  is  wiser  than  you  are.' 

4  Because  he  is  a  Christian,'  said  I. 

'  I  don't  know  whether  he  is  a  Christian  or  not ;  and 
it  is  nothing  to  the  purpose.  I  don't  care  what  he  is.' 

4  O  Preston  !  he  is  a  good  man  —  he  is  a  servant  of 
God  ;  he  will  wear  a  crown  of  gold  in  heaven  ;  —  and 
you  have  dared  to  touch  him  !  ' — 

'  Why,  hoity  toity  ! '  said  Preston.  c  What  concern 
of  mine  is  all  that !  All  I  know  is,  that  he  did  not  do 
what  I  ordered  him.' 

'  What  did  you  order  him  ?  ' 

'  I  ordered  him  not  to  shew  you  the  saddle  I  had  got 
for  you,  till  I  was  there.  I  was  going  to  surprise  you. 
I  am  provoked  at  him  ! ' 

'I  am  surprised — '  I  said.  B  it  feeling  how  little 
I  prevailed  with  Preston,  and  being  weak  in  body  as 
7* 


78  DAIS  f. 

well  as  mind,  I  could  not  keep  ba?k  the  tears.  I  be 
gan  to  walk  on  again,  though  they  blinded  me. 

4  Daisy,  don't  be  foolish.  If  Darry  is  to  wear  two 
crowns  in  the  other  world,  he  is  a  servant  in  this,  all 
the  same  ;  and  he  must  do  his  duty.' 

4  I  asked  for  the  saddle  — '  I  said. 

'  Why  Daisy,  Daisy  ! '  Preston  exclaimed  — 4  don't 
be  such  a  child.  You  know  nothing  about  it.  I 
didn't  touch  Darry  to  hurt  him/ 

'  It  was  a  sort  of  hurt  that  if  he  had  not  been  a 
Christian  he  would  have  made  you  sorry  for.' 

4  He  knows  I  would  shoot  him  if  he  did,'  said  Preston 
coolly. 

4  Preston,  don't  speak  so  ! '  I  pleaded. 

4  It  is  the  simple  truth.  Why  shouldn't  I  speak 
it?' 

4  You  do  not  mean  that  you  would  do  it?'  I  said, 
scarce  opening  my  eyes  to  the  reality  of  what  he  said. 

4  I  give  you  my  word,  I  do  !  If  one  of  these  black 
fellows  laid  a  hand  on  me  I  would  put  a  bullet 
through  him,  as  quick  as  a  partridge.' 

4  But  then  you  would  be  a  murderer J  —  said  I.  The 
ground  seemed  taken  away  from  under  my  feet.  We 
were  standing  still  now,  and  facing  each  other. 

4  No,  I  shouldn't,'  said  Preston.  4  The  law  takes  bet 
ter  care  of  us  than  that.' 

4  The  law  would  hang  you,'  said  I. 

4 1  tell  you,  Daisy,  it  is  no  such  thing  !  Gentlemen 
have  a  right  to  defend  themselves  against  the  inso 
lence  of  these  black  fellows.' 

4  And  have  not  the  black  fellows  a  right  to  de 
fend  themselves  against  the  insolence  of  gentlemen?' 
said  I. 


SEVEN   HUNDRED    PEOPLE.  79 

*  Daisy  you  are  talking  the  most  unspeakable  non 
sense,'  said  Preston,  quite  put  beyond  himself  now. 
4  Don't  you  know  any  better  than  that  ?     These  peo 
ple  are  our  servants  —  they  are  our  property  —  we  are 
to  do  what  we  like  with  them ;  and  of  course  the  law 
must  see  that  we  are  protected,  or  the  blacks  and  the 
whites  could  not  live  together.' 

4  A  man  may  be  your  servant,  but  he  cannot  be  your 
propert}V  I  said. 

4  Yes,  he  can  !  They  are  our  property,  just  as  much 
as  the  land  is ;  our  goods,  to  do  what  we  like  with. 
Didn't  you  know  that?' 

4  Property  is  something  that  you  can  buy  and  sell,'  I ' 
answered. 

4  And  we  sell  these  people,  and  buy  them  too,  as 
fast  as  we  like.' 

'  Sell  them  ! '  I  echoed,  thinking  of  Darry. 

1  Certainly/ 

4  And  who  would  buy  them  ?  ' 

4  Why,  all  the  world ;  everybody.  There  has  been 
nobody  sold  off  the  Magnolia  estate,  I  believe,  in  a 
long  time  ;  but  nothing  is  more  common,  Daisy  ;  every 
body  is  doing  it  everywhere,  when  he  has  got  too 
many  servants  or  when  he  has  got  too  few.' 

4  And  do  you  mean,'  said  I,  4  that  Darry  and  Marga 
ret  and  Theresa  and  all  the  rest  here,  have  been 
bought?' 

4  No ;  almost  all  of  them  have  been  born  on  the 
place.' 

4  Then  it  is  not  true  of  these,'  I  said. 

*  Yes,   it   is ;    for   their   mothers   and   fathers   were 
bought.     It  is  the  same  thing.' 

4  Who  bought  them  ?  '  I  asked  hastily. 


80  DAISY. 

v  Why !  ou:  mothers  and  grandfather  and  great 
grandfather.' 

4  Bought  the  fathers  and  mothers  of  all  these  hun 
dreds  of  people  ? '  said  I,  a  slow  horror  creeping  into 
my  veins,  that  yet  held  childish  blood  and  but  half 
comprehended. 

4  Certainly  —  ages  ago/  said  Preston.  4  Why  Daisy, 
I  thought  you  knew  all  about  it.' 

4  But  who  sold  them  first  ? '  said  I,  my  mind  in  its 
utter  rejection  of  what  was  told  me,  seeking  every 
refuge  from  accepting  it.  '  Who  sold  them  at  first  ?  ' 

4  Who  first  ?  O  the  people  that  brought  them  over 
from  Africa,  I  suppose ;  or  the  people  in  their  own 
country  that  sold  them  to  tliem.' 

i  They  had  no  right  to  sell  them/  I  said. 

'  Can't  tell  about  that/  said  Preston.  4  We  bought 
them.  I  suppose  we  had  a  right  to  do  that/ 

4  But  if  the  fathers  and  mothers  were  bought/  I 
insisted,  '  that  gives  us  no  right  to  have  their  chil 
dren/ 

4 1  would  like  you  to  ask  aunt  Felicia  or  my  uncle 
Randolph  such  a  question/  said  Preston.  'Just  see 
how  they  would  like  the  idea  of  giving  up  all  their 
property  !  Why  you  would  be  as  poor  as  Job,  Daisy/ 

4  The  land  would  be  here  all  the  same/ 

4  Much  good  the  land  would  do  you,  without  people 
to  work  it/ 

4  But  other  people  could  be  hired  as  well  as  these/  I 
said,  4  if  any  of  these  wanted  to  go  away/ 

4  No  they  couldn't.  White  people  cannot  bear  the 
climate  nor  do  the  work.  The  crops  cannot  be  raised 
without  coloured  labour/ 

4 1   do  no'    i  iderstand/  said  I,  feeling   my  child's 


SEVEN  HUNDJijSD   PEOPLE.  81 

head  puzzled.  '  Maybe  none  of  our  people  would  like 
to  go  away  ? ' 

'  I  dare  say  they  wouldn't/  said  Preston  carelessly. 
4  They  are  "better  off  here  than  on  most  plantations. 
Uncle  Randolph  never  forbids  his  hands  to  have  meat ; 
and  some  planters  do.J 

4  Forbid  them  to  have  meat !  '  I  said  in  utter  bewil 
derment. 

4  Yes.'        f 

'Why?' 

4  They  think  it  makes  them  fractious,  and  not  so 
easy  to  manage.  Don't  you  know,  it  makes  a  dog 
savage  to  feed  him  on  raw  meat?  I  suppose  cooked 
meat  has  the  same  effect  on  men.' 

4  But  don't  they  get  what  they  choose  to  eat  ? ' 

4  Well,  I  should  think  not ! '  said  Preston.  4  Fancy 
their  asking  to  be  fed  on  chickens  and  pound  cake. 
That  is  what  they  would  like.' 

4  But  cannot  they  spend  their  wages  for  what  they 
like?' 

4  Wages  ! '  said  Preston. 

4  Yes,'  said  I. 

4  My  dear  Daisy,'  said  Preston,  4  you  are  talking  of 
what  you  just  utterly  don't  understand ;  and  I  am  a 
fool  for  bothering  you  with  it.  Come  !  let  us  make  it 
up  and  be  friends.' 

He  stooped  to  kiss  me,  but  I  stepped  back. 

4  Stop,'  I  said.  4  Tell  me  —  can't  they  do  what  they 
like  with  their  wages  ? ' 

4 1  don't  think  they  have  wages  enough  to  44  do  what 
they  like  "  exactly,'  said  Preston.  4  Why  they  would 
44  like  "  to  do  nothing.  These  black  fellows  are  the 


82  DAISY. 

laziest  things  living.  They  would  "  Lke  "  to  lie  in  the 
sun  all  day  long.' 

4  What  wages  does  Darry  have  ? '  I  asked. 

•  Now  Daisy,  this  is  none  of  your  business.  Come, 
let  us  go  into  the  house  and  let  it  alone.' 

4  I  want  to  know,  first,'  said  I. 

'Daisy,  I  never  asked.  What  have  I  to  do  with 
Darry's  wages  ? ' 

'  I  will  ask  himself,'  I  said ;  and  I  turned  about  to 
go  to  the  stables. 

4  Stop,  Daisy,'  cried  Preston.  l  Daisy,  Daisy  !  you 
are  the  most  obstinate  Daisy  that  ever  was,  when  once 
you  have  taken  a  thing  in  your  head.  Daisy,  what 
have  you  to  do  with  all  this.  Look  here  —  these  peo 
ple  don't  want  wages.' 

4  Don't  want  wages  ! '  I  repeated. 

4  No  ;  they  don't  want  them.  What  would  they  do 
with  wages?  they  have  everything  they  need  given 
them  already ;  their  food  and  their  clothing  and  their 
houses.  They  do  not  want  anything  more.' 

4  You  said  they  did  not  have  the  food  they  liked,'  I 
objected. 

4  Who  does  ? '  said  Preston.  4 1  am  sure  I  don't,  — 
not  more  than  one  day  in  seven,  on  an  average.' 

4  But  don't  they  have  any  wages  at  all? '  I  persisted. 
'  Our  coachman  at  Melbourne  had  thirty  dollars  a 
month ;  and  Logan  had  forty  dollars,  and  his  house 
and  garden.  Why  shouldn't  Darry  have  wages  too? 
Don't  they  have  any  wages  at  all,  Preston?  ' 

4  Why  yes !  they  have  plenty  of  corn  bread  and 
bacon,  I  tell  you ;  and  their  clothes.  Daisy,  they 
belong  to  you,  these  people  do.' 

C<rrn  bread  and  bacon  was  not  much  like  chickens 


v  SEVhN   HUM  RED    PEOPLE.  83 

and  pound  cake,  I  thought ;  and  I  remembered  our  ser 
vants  at  Melbourne  were  very,  very  differently  dressed 
from  the  women  I  saw  about  me  here ;  even  in  the 
house.  I  stood  bewildered  and  pondering.  Preston 
tried  to  get. me  to  go  on. 

4  Why  shouldn't  they  have  wages  ? '  I  asked  at 
length,  with  lips  which  I  believe  were  growing  old 
with  my  thoughts. 

'  Daisy,  they  are  your  servants  ;  they  belong  to  you. 
They  have  no  right  to  wages.  Suppose  you  had  to 
pay  all  these  creatures  —  seven  hundred  of  them  —  as 
you  pay  people  at  Melbourne  ;  how  much  do  you  sup 
pose  you  would  have  left  to  live  upon  yourselves? 
What  nonsense  it  is  to  talk ! '  — 

'  But  they  work  for  us,'  I  said. 

4  Certainly.  There  would  not  be  anything  for  any 
of  us  if  they  didn't.  Here,  at  Magnolia,  they  raise 
rice  crops  and  corn,  as  well  as  cotton ;  at  our  place  we 
grow  nothing  but  cotton  and  corn/ 

'  Well,  what  pays  them  for  working?' 

4 1  told  you  !  they  have  their  living  and  clothing  and 
no  care ;  and  they  are  the  happiest  creatures  the  sun 
shines  on.' 

4  Are  they  willing  to  work  for  only  that?  '  I  asked. 

4  Willing  ! '  said  Preston. 

4  Yes,'  said  I,  feeling  myself  grow  sick  at  heart. 

'  I  fancy  nobody  asks  them  that  question.  They 
have  to  work,  I  reckon,  whether  they  like  it  or  no.' 

4  You  said  they  like  to  lie  in  the  sun.  What  makes 
them  work  ? ' 

4  Makes  them ! '  said  Preston,  who  "was  getting  ir 
ritated  as  well  as  impatient.  4  They  get  a  good  flog 
ging  if  they  do  not  work  —  that  is  all.  They  know,  if 


84  DAISY.  ^ 

they  don't  do  their  part,  the  lash  will  come  down  ;  and 
it  don't  come  down  easy.' 

I  suppose  I  must  have  looked  as  if  it  had  come  down 
on  me.  Preston  stopped  talking  and  began  to  take 
care  of  me  ;  putting  his  arm  round  me  to  support  my 
steps  homeward.  In  the  verandah  my  aunt  met  us. 
She  immediately  decided  that  I  was  ill,  and  ordered 
me  to  go  to  bed  at  once.  It  was  the  thing  of  all 
others  I  would  have  wished  to  do.  It  saved  me  from 
the  exertion  of  trying  to  hold  myself  up  and  of  speak 
ing  and  moving  and  answering  questions.  I  went  to 
bed  iu  dull  misery,  longing  to  go  to  sleep  and  forget 
all  my  troubles  of  mind  and  body  together  ;  but  while  the 
body  vested,  the  mind  would  not.  That  kept  the  con 
sciousness  of  its  burden ;  and  it  was  that,  more  than 
any  nhysical  ail,  which  took  away  my  power  of  eating 
and  created  instead  a  wretched  sort  of  half  nausea, 
which  made  even  rest  unrefreshing.  As  for  rest  in  my 
mind  and  heart,  it  seemed  at  that  time  as  if  I  should 
never  know  it  again.  Never  again  !  I  was  a  child  —  I 
had  but  vague  ideas  respecting  even  what  troubled  me  ; 
nevertheless  I  had  been  struck,  where  may  few 
children  be  struck !  in  the  very  core  and  quick  of  my 
heart's  reverence  and  affection.  It  had  come  home  to 
me  that  papa  was  somehow  doing  wrong.  My  father 
was  in  my  childish  thought  and  belief,  the  ideal  of 
chivalrous  and  high-bred  excellence  ;  —  and  papa  was 
doing  wrong.  I  could  not  turn  my  eyes  from  the 
truth  ;  it  was  before  me  in  too  visible  a  form.  It  did 
not  arrange  itself  in  words,  either  ;  not  at  first ;  it  only 
pressed  upon  my  heart  and  brain  that  seven  hundred 
people  on  my  father's  property  were  injured,  and  by 
his  will,  and  for  his  interests.  Dimly  the  consciousness 


SEVEN   HUNDRED    PEOPLE.  85 

came  to  me ;  slowly  it  found  its  way  and  spread  out 
its  details  before  me  ;  bit  by  bit  one  point  after  another 
came  into  my  mind  to  make  the  whole  good ;  bit  by  bit 
one  item  after  another  came  in  to  explain  and  be  ex 
plained  and  to  add  its  quota  of  testimony  ;  all  making 
clear  and  distinct  and  dazzling  before  me  the  truth 
which  at  first  it  was  so  hard  to  grasp.  And  this  is 
not  the  less  true  because  my  childish  thought  at  first 
took  everything  vaguely  and  received  it  slowly.  I 
was  a  child  and  a  simple  child  ;  but  once  getting  hold 
of  a  clue  of  truth,  my  mind  never  let  it  go.  Step  by 
step,  as  a  child  could,  I  followed  it  out.  And  the 
balance  of  the  golden  rule,  to  which  I  was  accustomed, 
is  an  easy  one  to  weigh  things  in ;  and  even  little 
hands  can  manage  it. 

For  an  hour  after  they  put  me  to  bed  my  heart  seemed 
to  grow  chill  from  minute  to  minute  ;  and  my  body  in 
curious  sympath3r,  shook  as  if  I  had  an  ague.  My 
aunt  and  Miss  Pinshon  came  and  went  and  were  busy 
about  me ;  making  me  drink  negus  and  putting  hot 
bricks  to  my  feet.  Preston  stole  in  to  look  at  me  ;  but 
I  gathered  that  neither  then  nor  afterwards  did  he  re 
veal  to  any  one  the  matter  of  our  conversation  the 
hour  before.  '  Wearied  '  — i  homesick '  —  '  feeble '  — 
1  with  no  sort  of  strength  to  bear  anything '  —  they  said 
I  was.  All  true,  no  doubt ;  and  yet  I  was  not  with 
out  powers  of  endurance,  even  bodily,  if  my  mind 
gave  a  little  help.  Now  the  trouble  was,  that  all  such 
help  was  wanting.  The  dark  figures  of  the  servants 
came  and  went  too,  with  the  others  ;  came  and  stayed  ; 
Margaret  and  mammy  Theresa  took  posit  in  my  room, 
and  when  they  could  do  nothing  for  me,  crouched  by 
the  fire  and  spent  their  cares  and  energies  in  keep- 
8 


86  DAISY. 

ing  that  in  full  blast.  I  could  hardly  bear  to  f*ee 
them  ;  but  I  had  no  heart  to  speak  even  to  ask  that 
they  might  be  sent  away,  or  for  anything  else  ;  and  J 
hart  a  sense  besides  that  it  was  a  gratification  to  them 
to  be  near  me ;  and  to  gratify  any  one  of  the  race  I 
would  have  borne  a  good  deal  of  pain. 

It  smites  my  heart  now,  to  think  of  those  hours. 
The  image  of  them  is  sharp  and  fresh  as  if  the  time 
were  but  last  night.  I  lay  with  shut  eyes,  taking  in 
as  it  seemed  to  me,  additional  loads  of  trouble  with 
each  quarter  of  an  hour  ;  as  I  thought  and  thought  and 
put  one  and  another  thing  together,  of  things  past  and 
present,  to  help  my  understanding.  A  child  will 
cany  on  that  process  fast  and  to  far-off  results  ;  give 
her  but  the  key  and  set  her  off  on  the  track  of  truth 
with  a  sufficient  impetus.  My  happy  childlike  igno 
rance  and  childlike  life  was  in  a  measure  gone  ;  I  had 
come  into  the  world  of  vexed  questions,  of  the  op 
pressor  and  the  oppressed,  the  full  and  the  empty,  the 
rich  and  the  poor.  I  could  make  nothing  at  all  of 
Preston's  arguments  and  reasonings.  The  logic  of 
expediency  and  of  consequences  carried  no  weight 
with  me,  and  as  little  the  logic  of  self-interest.  I 
sometimes  think  a  child's  vision  is  clearer  even  in 
worldly  matters,  than  the  eyes  of  those  can  be  who 
have  lived  long  among  the  fumes  and  vapours  which 
rise  in  these  low  grounds.  Unless  the  eyes  be  washed 
day  by  day  in  the  spring  of  truth,  and  anointed  with 
unearthly  ointment.  The  right  and  the  wrong,  were 
the  two  things  that  presented  themselves  to  my  view ; 
and  oh,  my  sorrow  and  heartbreak  was,  that  papa  was 
in  the  wrong.  I  could  not  believe  it,  and  yet  I  could 
not  get  rid  of  it.  There  were  oppressors  and  oppressed 


SEVEN  HUNDRED    PEOPLE.  87 

m  the  vvorld  ;  and  lie  was  one  of  the  oppressors.  There 
is  no  sorrow  that  a  child  can  bear,  keener  and  more 
gnawvagijr  bitter  than  this.  It  has  a  sting  all  its  own, 
for  which  there  is  neither  salve  nor  remedy ;  and  it 
had  the  aggravation,  in  my  case,  of  the  sense  of 
personal  dishonour.  The  wrong  done  and  the  oppress 
ion  inflicted  were  not  the  whole  ;  there  was  besides  the 
intolerable  sense  of  living  upon  other's  gains.  It  was 
more  than  my  heart  could  bear. 

I  could  not  write  as  I  do,  —  I  could  not  recall  these 
thoughts  and  that  time,  —  if  I  had  not  another  thought 
to  bring  to  bear  upon  them  ;  a  thought  which  at  that 
time  I  was  not  able  to  comprehend.  It  came  to  me 
later  with  its  healing,  and  I  have  seen  and  felt  it  more 
clearly  as  I  grew  older.  I  see  it  very  clearly  now.  I 
had  not  been  mistaken  in  my  childish  notions  of  the 
loftiness  and  generosity  of  my  father's  character.  He 
was  what  I  had  thought  him.  Neither  was  I  a  whit 
wrong  in  my  judgment  of  the  things  which  it  grieved 
me  that  he  did  and  allowed.  Bat  I  saw  afterwards 
how  he,  and  others,  had  grown  up  and  been  educated 
in  a  system  and  atmosphere  of  falsehood,  till  he  failed 
to  perceive  that  it  was  false.  His  eyes  had  lived  in 
the  darkness  till  it  seemed  quite  comfortably  light  to 
him ;  while  to  a  fresh  vision,  accustomed  to  the  sun,  it 
was  pure  and  blank  darkness,  as  thick  as  night.  He 
followed  what  others  did  and  his  father  had  done  be 
fore  him,  without  any  suspicion  that  it  was  an  ab 
normal  and  morbid  condition  of  things  they  were  all 
living  in  ;  more  especially  without  a  tinge  of  misgiving 
that  it  might  not  be  a  noble,  upright  and  dignified  way 
of  life.  But  I,  his  little  unreasoning  child,  bringing 
the  golden  rule  of  the  gospel  oily  to  judge  of  the  do- 


88  DAISY. 

ings  of  hell,  shrank  back  and  fell  to  the  ground,  in  my 
heart,  to  find  the  one  I  loved  best  in  the  world  con 
cerned  in  them. 

So  when  I  opened  my  eyes  that  night,  and  looked  into 
the  blaze  of  the  firelight,  the  dark  figures  that  were 
there  before  it  stung  me  with  pain  every  time ;  and 
eveiy  soft  word  and  tender  look  on  their  faces  —  and  I 
had  many  a  one,  both  words  and  looks  —  racked  my 
heart  in  a  way  that  was  strange  for  a  child.  The 
negus  put  me  to  sleep  at  last,  or  exhaustion  did ;  I 
think  the  latter,  for  it  was  very  late  ;  and  the  rest  of 
that  night  wore  away. 

When  I  awoke,  the  two  women  were  there  still,  just 
as  I  had  left  them  when  I  went  to  sleep.  I  do  not 
know  if  they  sat  there  all  night,  or  if  they  had  slept 
on  the  floor  by  my  side ;  but  there  they  were,  and 
talking  softly  to  one  another  about  something  that 
caught  my  attention.  I  bounced  out  of  bed  —  though 
I  was  so  weak  I  remember  I  reeled  as  I  went  from  my 
bed  to  the  fire  —  and  steadied  myself  by  laying  my 
hand  on  mammy  Theresa's  shoulder.  I  demanded  of 
Margaret  what  she  had  been  saying?  The  women 
both  started,  with  expressions  of  surprise,  alarm,  and 
tender  affection,  raised  by  my  ghostly  looks,  and 
begged  me  to  get  back  into  bed  again.  I  stood  fast, 
bearing  on  Theresa's  shoulder. 

1  What  was  it?'  I  asked. 

'  'Twarn't  nothin,'  Miss  Daisy,  dear  ! '  said  the  girl. 

'  Hush  !  don't  tell  me  that,'  I  said.  ,'  Tell  me  what 
it  was  —  tell  me  what  it  was.  Nobody  shall  know; 
you  need  not  be  afraid  ;  nobody  shall  know/  For  I 
saw  a  cloud  of  hesitation  in  Margaret's  face. 

'  'TvvaMi't  nothin',  Miss  Daisy  —  only  about  Dairy.' 


SEVEN  HUNDRED   PEOPLE.  89 

1  What  about  Dairy?  '  I  said  trembling. 

'  He  done  went  and  had  a  praise-meetinY  said 
Theresa ;  '  and  he  knowed  it  war  agin  the  rules ;  he 
knowed  that.  'Course  he  did.  Rules  mus'  be'kepV 

'  Whose  rules  ? '  —  I  asked. 

'Laws,  honey,  'taint  'cording  to  rules  for  we  col 
oured  folks  to  hold  meetin's  no  how.  'Course,  we's 
ought  to  'bey  de  rules  ;  dat's  clar.' 

'  Who  made  the  rules? ' 

'Who  make  'em?  Mass'  Ed'ards  —  he  make  de 
rules  on  dis  plantation.  Reckon  Mass'  Randolph,  he 
make  'em  a  heap  different.' 

4  Doe^  Mr.  Edwards  make  it  a  rule  that  you  are  not 
to  hold  prayermeetings  ? ' 

'  Can't  spec'  for  to  have  everyt'ing  jus'  like  de  white 
folkn,'  said  the  old  woman.  '  We's  no  right  to  spect 
it.  But  uncle  Darry,  he  sot  a  sight  by  his  praise- 
meeliin'.  He's  cur'ous,  he  is.  S'pose  Darry's  cur'ous.' 

'And  does  anybody  say  that  you  shall  not  have 
prayermeetings  ? ' 

'Laws,  honey!  what's  we  got  to  do  wid  praise- 
meotin's  or  any  sort  o'  meetin's  ?  We'se  got  to  work. 
Mass'  Ed'ards,  he  say  dat  de  meetin's  dey  makes  col 
oured  folks  onsettled  ;  and  dey  don't  hoe  de  corn  good 
if  dey  has  too  much  prayin'  to  do.' 

4  And  does  he  forbid  them  then?  doesn't  he  let  you 
have  prayermeetings  ? ' 

'  'Taint  Mr.  Edwards  alone,  Miss  Daisy,'  said  .Mar 
garet  speaking  low.  '  It's  agin  the  law  for  us  to  have 
raeetin's  anyhow  —  'cept  we  get  leave,  and  say  what 
house  it  shall  be,  and  who's  a  comin',  and  what  we'se  a 
cornin'  for.  And  it's  no  use  ask'ng  Mr.  Edwards, 
8* 


90  DAISY. 

'cause  he  don't  see  no  reason  why  blac:k  folks  should 
have  meetin's.' 

'  Did  Darry  have  a  prayermeeting  without  leave?'  I 
asked. 

'  'Twarn't  no  count  of  a  meetin' ! '  said  Theresa,  a 
little  touch  of  scorn,  or  indignation,  coming  into  her 
voice  ;  —  '  and  Darry,  he  war  in  his  own  house  prayin'. 
Dere  warn't  nobod}^  dere,  but  Pete  and  ole  'Liza,  and 
Maria  cook,  and  dem  two  Johns  dat  come  from  de 
lower  plantation.  Dey  couldn't  get  a  strong  meetin' 
into  uncle  Darry 's  house ;  'taint  big  enough  to  hold 
'em.' 

1  And  what  did  the  overseer  do  to  Darry?'  I  asked. 

4  Laws,  Miss  Daisy,'  said  Margaret,  with  a  quick 
look  at  the  other  woman,  —  'he  didn't  do  nothin'  to 
hurt  Darry ;  he  only  want  to  scare  de  folks.' 

'  Dey's  done  scared  — '  said  Theresa  under  her 
breath. 

'  What  is  it?'  I  said,  steadying  myself  by  my  hold 
on  Theresa's  shoulder,  and  feeling  that  I  must  stand 
till  I  had  finished  my  enquiry  — '  how  did  he  know 
about  the  meeting?  and  what  did  he  do  to  Darry?  — 
Tell  me  !  I  must  know.  I  must  know,  Margaret.' 

4  Spect  he  was  goin'  through  the  quarters,  and  he 
heard  Darry  at  his  prayin','  said  Margaret.  '  Darry, 
he  don't  mind  to  keep  his  prayers  secret,  he  don't,'  — 
she  added  with  a  half  laugh.  '  Spect  nothin'  but 
they'll  bust  the  walls  o'  that  little  house  some  clay.' 

4  Dey's  powerful ! '  added  Theresa.  4  But  he  warn't 
prayin'  no  harm ;  he  was  just  pra\rin'  "  Dy  will  be 
done,  on  de  eart'  as  it  be  in  de  heaven" — Ptte,  he 
tell  me.  Dany  warn't  saying  noting  —  he  just  pray 
"  Dy  will  be  done." ' 


SEVEN  HUNDRED   PEOPLE.  91 

1  Well  ?  '  I  said,  for  Margaret  kept  silent. 

'  And  de  oberseer,  he  say  —  leastways  he  swore,  he 
did,  dat  his  will  should  be  what  is  done  on  dis  planta 
tion,  and  he  wouldn't  have  no  such  work.  He  say, 
dere's  nobody  to  come  togedder  after  it  be  dark,  if  it's 
two  or  free,  'cept  dey  gets  his  leave,  Mass'  Ed'ards, 
he  say  ;  and  dey  won't  get  it.' 

4  But  what  did  he  do  to  Barry  ? '  I  could  scarcely 
hold  myself  on  my  feet  by  this  time. 

'  He  whipped  him,  I  reckon,'  —  said  Margaret  in  a 
low  tone,  and  with  a  dark  shadow  crossing  her  face, 
very  different  from  its  own  brown  duskiness. 

4  He  don't  have  a  light  hand,  Mass'  Ed'ards/  went 
on  Theresa ;  4  and  he  got  a  sharp  new  whip.  De 
second  stripe, — Pete,  he  tell  me,  —  he  toll  me  dis 
evenin'  —  and  it  war  wet ;  and  it  war  wet  enough 
before  he  got  through.  He  war  mad,  I  reckon  ;  certain 
Mass'  Ed'ards,  he  war  mad.' 

'  Wet?'  said  I. 

4  Laws,  Miss  Daisy,'  said  Margaret,  '  'tain't  nothin'. 
Them  whips,  they  draws  the  blood  easy.  Darry,  he 
don't  mind.' 

I  have  a  recollection  of  the  girl's  terrified  face,  but 
I  heard  nothing  more.  Such  a  deadly  sickness  came 
over  me  that  for  a  minute  I  must  have  been  near 
fainting  ;  happily  it  took  another  turn  amid  the  various 
confused  feelings  which  oppressed  me,  and  I  burst  into 
tears.  My  eyes  had  not  been  wet  through  all  the 
hours  of  the  evening  and  night ;  my  heartache  had 
been  d^.  I  think  I  was  never  very  easy  to  move  to 
tears,  even  as  a  child.  But  now,  well  for  me  perhaps, 
some  element  of  the  pain  I  was  suffering  found  the 
unguarded  point  —  or  broke  up  the  guard.  I  wept  as 


92  DAISY. 

I  have  done  very  few  times  in  my  life  I  had  thrown 
myself  into  mammy  Theresa's  lap,  in  the  weakness 
which  could  not  support  itself  and  in  an  abandonment 
of  grief  which  was  careless  of  all  the  outside  world ; 
and  there  I  lay,  clasped  in  her  arms  and  sobbing. 
Grief,  horror,  tender  sympathy,  and  utter  helpless 
ness,  striving  together ;  there  was  nothing  for  me  at 
that  moment  but  the  woman's  refuge  and  the  child's 
remedy  of  weeping.  But  the  weeping  was  so  bitter, 
so  violent,  and  so  uncontrollable  that  the  women  were 
frightened.  I  believe  they  shut  the  doors,  to  keep  the 
sound  of  my  sobs  from  reaching  other  ears  ;  for  when 
I  recovered  the  use  of  my  senses  I  saw  that  they  were 
closed. 

The  certain  strange  relief  which  tears  do  bring,  they 
gave  to  me.  I  cannot  tell  why.  My  pain  was  not 
changed,  my  helplessness  was  not  done  away ;  yet  at 
least  I  had  washed  my  causes  of  sorrow  in  a  flood  of 
heart  drops,  and  cleansed  them  so  somehow  from  any 
personal  stain.  Rather,  I  was  perfectly  exhausted. 
The  women  put  me  to  bed,  as  soon  as  I  would  let 
them ;  and  Margaret  whispered  an  earnest,  '  Do,  don't, 
Miss  Daisy,  don't  say  nothin'  about  the  prayermeet- 
in' ! '  —  I  shook  my  head  ;  I  knew  better  than  to  say 
rnything  about  it. 

All  the  better  not  to  betray  them,  and  myself,  I  shut 
my  eyes,  and  tried  to  let  my  face  grow  quiet.  I  had 
succeeded,  I  believe,  before  my  aunt  Gary  and  Miss 
Pinshon  came  in.  The  two  stood  looking  at  me  ;  my 
aunt  in  some  consternation,  my  governess  reserving 
any  expression  of  what  she  thought.  I  fancied  she 
did  not  trust  my  honesty.  Another  time  I  might  have 
made  an  effort  to  right  myself  in  her  opinion  ;  but  I 


HUNDRED   PEOPLE.  93 

was  past  that  and  everything  now.  It  was  decided  by 
my  aunt  that  I  had  better  keep  my  bed  as  long  as  I 
felt  like  doing  so. 

So  I  lay  there  during  the  long  hours  of  that  day.  I 
was  glad  to  be  still,  to  keep  out  of  the  way  in  a  cor 
ner,  to  hear  little  and  see  nothing  of  what  was  going 
on  ;  my  own  small  world  of  thoughts  was  enough  to 
keep  me  busy.  I  grew  utterly  weary  at  last  of  think 
ing,  and  gave  it  up,  so  far  as  I  could ;  submitting  pas 
sively,  in  a  state  of  pain  sometimes  dull  and  some 
times  acute,  to  what  I  had  no  power  to  change  or 
remedy.  But  my  father  Jiad,  I  thought ;  and  at  those 
times  my  longing  was  unspeakable  to  see  him.  I  was 
very  quiet  all  that  day,  I  believe,  in  spite  of  the  rage 
of  wishes  and  sorrows  within  me ;  but  it  was  not  to 
be  expected  I  should  gain  strength.  On  the  contrary, 
I  think  I  grew  feverish.  If  I  could  have  laid  down  my 
troubles  in  prayer  !  but  at  first,  these  troubles,  I  could 
not.  The  core  and  root  of  them  being  my  father's 
share  in  the  rest.  And  I  was  not  alone  ;  and  I  had  a 
certain  consciousness  that  if  I  allowed  myself  to  go  to 
my  little  Bible  for  help,  it  would  unbar  nry  self-re 
straint  with  its  sweet  and  keen  words,  and  I  should 
give  way  again  before  Margaret  and  Theresa ;  and  I 
did  not  wish  that. 

1  What  shall  we  do  with  her?'  said  my  aunt  Gary 
when  she  came  to  me  towards  the  evening.  '  She  looks 
like  a  mere  shadow.  I  never  saw  such  a  change  in  a 
child  in  four  weeks  —  never  ! ' 

4  Try  a  different  regimen  to-morrow,  I  .think/  said 
my  governess,  whose  lustrous  black  eyes  looked  at  me 
sick,  exactly  as  they  had  looked  at  me  well. 


^4  DAISY. 

4  I  shall  send  for  a  doctor,  if  she  isn't  better/  said 
my  aunt.  '  She's  feverish  now/ 

'Keeping  her  bed  all  day/  —  said  Miss  Pinshon. 

'  Do  you  jlrink  so  ? '  said  my  aunt. 

4 1  have  no  doubt  of  it.     It  is  very  weakening.' 

4  Then  we  will  let  her  get  up  to-morrow,  and  see  how 
that  will  do.' 

They  had  been  gone  half  an  hour,  when  Preston 
stole  in  and  came  to  the  side  of  my  bed,  between  me 
and  the  firelight. 

'  Come,  Daisy,  let  us  be  friends  ! '  he  said.  And  he 
was  stooping  to  kiss  me ;  but  I  put  out  my  hand  to 
keep  him  back. 

4  Not  till  you  have  told  Darry  you  are  sorry/  I 
said. 

Preston  was  angry  instantly,  and  stood  upright. 

4  A  sk  pardon  of  a  servant ! '  he  said.  4  You  would 
have  the  world  upside  down  directly/ 

1 1  nought  it  was  upside  down  already  ;  but  I  was  too 
weak  and  downhearted  to  say  so. 

4  Daisy,  Daisy  ! '  said  Preston  — 4  And  there  you  lie, 
looking  like  a  poor  little  wood  flower  that  has  hardly 
strength  to  hold  up  its  head  ;  and  with  about  as  much 
colour  in  your  cheeks.  Come,  Daisy,  —  kiss  me,  and 
let  us  be  friends/ 

'  If  you  will  do  what  is  right  — '  I  said. 

4 1  will  —  always/  said  Preston  ;  4  but  this  would 
be  wrong,  you  know/  And  he  stooped  again  to  kiss 
me.  And  again  I  would  not  suffer  him. 

4  Daisy,  you  are  absurd/  said  Preston,  vibrating  be 
tween  pity  and  anger  I  think,  as  he  looked  at  me. 
'  Darry  is  a  servant,  and  accustomed  to  a  servant's 


HUNDRED   PEOPLE.  95 


place.     What  hurt  you  so  much,  did  not  hurt  him  a  bit. 
He  knows  where  he  belongs.' 

'  You  don't,'  —  said  I. 

'What?' 

'  Know  anything  about  it.5  I  remember  I  spoke 
very  feebly.  I  had  hardly  energy  left  to  speak  at  all. 
My  words  must  have  come  with  a  curious  contrast  be 
tween  the  meaning  and  the  manner. 

'Know  anything,  about  what,  Daisy?  You  are  as 
oracular  and  as  immoveable  as  one  of  Egypt's  monu 
ments  ;  only  they  are  very  hard,  and  you  are  very 
soft,  my  dear  little  Daisy  !  —  and  they  are  very  brown, 
according  to  all  I  have  heard,  and  you  are  as  white  as 
a  wind-flower.  One  can  almost  see  through  you. 
What  is  it  I  don't  know  anything  about  ?  ' 

'  I  am  so  tired,  Preston  !  '  — 

4  Yes,  but  what  is  it  I  don't  know  anything  about?  ' 

4  Darry's  place  —  and  yours,'  I  said. 

4  His  place  and  mine  !  His  place  is  a  servant's,  I 
take  it,  belonging  to  Rudolf  Randolph,  of  Magnolia. 
I  am  the  unworthy  representative  of  an  old  Southern 
family,  and  a  gentleman.  What  have  you  to  say 
about  that?' 

'  He  is  a  servant  of  the  Lord  of  lords,'  I  said  ;  4  and 
his  Master  loves  him.  And  he  has  a  house  of  glory 
preparing  for  him,  and  a  crown  of  gold,  and  a  white 
robe,  such  as  the  King's  children  wear.  And  he  will 
sit  on  a  throne  himself  by  and  by.  Preston,  where 
will  you  be  ?  ' 

These  words  were  said  without  the  least  heat  of 
manner  —  almost  languidly  ;  but  they  put  Preston  in  a 
fume.  I  could  not  catch  his  excitement  in  the  least  ; 
but  I  saw  it.  He  stood  up  again,  hesitated,  opened 


96  DAISY. 

nis  mouth  to  speak  and  shut  it  without  speaking, 
turned  and  walked  away  and  came  back  to  me.  I  did 
not  wait  for  him  then. 

'  You  have  offended  one  of  the  King's  children/  I 
said  ;  '  and  the  King  is  offended/ 

4  Daisy  ! '  said  Preston  in  a  sort  of  suppressed  fury. 
6  one  would  think  you  had  turned  Abolitionist ;  only 
you  never  heard  of  such  a  thing.' 

4  What  is  it  ?  '  said  I  shutting  my  eyes. 

4  It  is  just  the  meanest  and  most  impudent  shape  a 
Northerner  can  take  ;  it  is  the  lowest  end  of  creation, 
an  Abolitionist  is ;  and  a  Yankee  is  pretty  much  the 
same  thing.' 

4  Dr.  Sandford  is  a  Yankee,'  I  remarked. 

4  Did  you  get  it  from  him? '  Preston  asked  fiercely. 

4  What? '  said  I  opening  my  eyes. 

4  Your  nonsense.  Has  he  taught  you  to  turn  Ab 
olitionist  ! ' 

4 1  have  not  turned  at  all,'  I  said.  '  I  wish  you 
would.  It  is  only  the  people  who  are  in  the  wrong 
that  ought  to  turn.' 

4  Daisy,'  said  Preston,  4  you  ought  never  to  be  away 
from  aunt  Felicia  and  my  uncle.  Nobody  else  can 
manage  you.  I  don't  know  what  you  will  become  or 
what  you  will  do,  before  they  get  back.' 

I  was  silent ;  and  Preston  I  suppose  cooled  down. 
He  waited  awhile,  and  then  again  begged  that  I  would 
kiss  and  be  friends.  4  You  see,  I  am  going  away  to 
morrow  morning,  little  Daisy.' 

4 1  wish  you  had  gone  two  days  ago,'  I  said. 

And  my  mind  did  not  change,  even  when  the  morn 
ing  came. 


IN  THE  KITCHEN.  97 


CHAPTER    V. 

IN    THE    KITCHEN  . 

I  WAS  ill  for  days.  It  was  not  due  to  one  thing, 
doubtless,  nor  one  sorrow ;  but  the  whole  together. 
My  aunt  sent  to  Baytown  for  the  old  family  physician. 
He  came  up  and  looked  at  me ;  and  decided  that  I 
ought  to  «  play '  as  much  as  possible  ! 

4  She  isn't  a  child  that  likes  play,'  said  my  aunt. 

.  *  Find^  some  play  that  she  does  like,  then.  Where 
are  her  father  and  mother  ? ' 

4  Just  sailed  for  Europe,  a  few  weeks  ago.' 

4  The  best  thing  would  be,  for  her  to  sail  after  them/ 
said  the  old  doctor.  And  he  went. 

4  We  shall  have  to  let  her  do  just  as  they  did  at 
Melbourne,'  said  my  aunt. 

4  How  was  that  ? '  said  Miss  Pinshon. 

4  Let  her  have  just  her  own  way.' 

4  And  what  was  that  ? ' 

4  O  queer,'  said  my  aunt.  4  She  is  not  like  other 
children.  But  anything  is  better  than  to  have  her 
mope  to  death.' 

4 1  shall  try  and  not  have  her  mope,'  said  Miss  Pin 
shon. 

But  she  had  little  chance  to  adopt  her  reforming 
regimen  for  some  time.  It  was  plain  I  was  not  fit  for 
anything  but  to  be  let  alone ;  like  a  weak  plant 
9 


98  DAISY. 

struggling  for  its  existence.  All  you  can  do  with  it  is 
to  put  it  in  the  sun ;  and  my  aunt  and  governess 
tacitly  agreed  upon  the  same  plan  of  treatment  for 
me.  Now  the  only  thing  wanting  was  sunshine;  and 
it  was  long  before  that  could  be  had.  After  a  day  or 
two  I  left  my  bed,  and  crept  about  the  house,  and  out 
of  the  house  under  the  great  oaks  ;  where  the  material 
sunshine  was  warm  and  bright  enough,  and  caught  it 
self  in  the  grey  wreaths  of  moss  that  waved  over  my 
Jiead,  and  seemed  to  come  bodily  to  woo  me  to  life  and 
cheer.  It  lay  in  the  carpet  under  my  feet ;  it  lingered 
in  the  leaves  of  the  thick  oaks  ;  it  wantoned  in  the 
wind,  as  the  long  draperies  of  moss  swung  and  moved 
gentty  to  and  fro ;  but  the  very  sunshine  is  cold  where 
the  ice  meets  it ;  I  could  get  no  comfort.  The  thoughts 
that  had  so  troubled  me  the  evening  after  my  long 
talk  with  Preston2  were  always  present  with  me  ;  they 
went  out  and  came  in  with  me  ;  I  slept  with  them,  and 
they  met  me  when  I  woke.  The  sight  of  the  servants 
was  wearying.  I  shunned  Darry  and  the  stables.  I 
had  no  heart  for  my  pony.  I  would  have  liked  to  get 
away  from  Magnolia.  Yet,  be  I  where  I  might,  it 
would  not  alter  my  father's  position  towards  these 
seven  hundred  people.  And  towards  how  many  more  ? 
There  were  his  estates  in  Virginia. 

One  of  the  first  things  I  did,  as  soon  as  I  could 
command  my  fingers  to  do  it,  was  to  write  to  him. 
Not  a  remonstrance.  I  knew  better  than  to  touch  that. 
All  I  ventured,  was  to  implore  that  the  people  who  de 
sired  it  might  be  allowed  to  hold  prayermeetings 
whenever  they  liked,  and  Mr.  Edwards  be  forbidden  to 
interfere.  Also  I  complained  that  the  inside  of  the 
cabins  was  not  comfortable  ;  that  they  were  bare  and 


IN  TRB  KITCHEN;  99 

empty.  I  pleaded  for  a  little  bettering  of  them.  It 
was  not  a  long  letter  that  I  wrote.  My  sorrow  I  could 
not  tell,  and  my  love  and  my  longing  were  equally  be 
yond  the  region  of  words.  I  fancy  it  would  have 
been  thought  by  Miss  Pinshon  a  very  cold  little  epis 
tle  ;  but  Miss  Pinshon  did  not  see  it.  I  wrote  it  with 
weak  trembling  fingers,  and  closed  it  and  sealed  it  and 
sent  it  myself.  Then  I  sank  into  a  helpless,  careless, 
listless  state  of  body  and  mind,  which  was  very  bad 
for  me  ;  and  there  was  no  physician  who  could  minister 
to  me.  I  went  wandering  about,  mostly  out  of  doors, 
alone  with  myself  and  my  sorrow.  When  I  seemed  a 
little  stronger  than  usual,  Miss  Pinshon  tried  the 
multiplication  table  ;  and  I  tried  ;  but  the  spring  of  my 
mind  was  for  the  time  broken.  All  such  trials  came 
to  an  end  in  such  weakness  and  weariness,  that  my 
governess  herself  was  fain  to  take  the  book  from  my 
hands  and  send  me  out  into  the  sunshine  again. 

It  was  Darry  at  last  who  found  me  one  day,  and 
distressed  at  my  looks,  begged  that  I  would  let  him 
bring  up  my  pony.  He  was  so  earnest  that  I  yielded. 
I  got  leave,  and  went  to  ride.  Darry  saddled  another 
horse  for  himself  and  went  with  me.  That  first  ride 
did  not  help  me  much ;  but  the  second  time,  a  little 
tide  of  life  began  to  steal  into  my  veins.  Darry  en 
couraged  and  instructed  me ;  and  when  we  came 
cantering  up  to  the  door  of  the  house,  my  aunt  who  was 
watching  there,  cried  out  that  I  had  a  bit  of  a  tinge  in 
my  cheeks  ;  and  charged  Darry  to  bring  the  horses  up 
every  day. 

With  a  little  bodily  vigour  a  little  strength  of  mind 
seemed  to  corne ;  a  little  more  power  of  bearing  up 
against  evils,  or  of  quietly  standing  under  them. 


1 00  DAISY. 

After  the  third  time  I  went  to  ride,  having  come  home 
refreshed,  I  took  my  Bible  and  sat  down  on  the  rug  be 
fore  the  fire  in  my  room  to  read.  I  had  not  been  able 
to  get  comfort  in  my  Bible  all  those  days  ;  often  I  had 
not  liked  to  try.  Right  and  wrong  never  met  me  in 
more  brilliant  colours  or  startling  shadows  than  within 
the  covers  of  that  book.  But  to-day,  soothed  somehow, 
I  went  along  with  the  familiar  words  as  one  listens  to 
old  music,  with  the  soothing  process  going  on  all  along. 
Right  was  right,  and  glorious,  and  would  prevail  some 
time  ;  and  nothing  could  hinder  it.  And  then  I  came 
to  words  which  I  knew,  yet  which  had  never  taken 
such  hold  of  me  before. 

'  Let  your  light  so  shine  before  men,  that  they  may 
see  your  good  works  and  glorify  your  Father  which  is 
in  heaven.' 

'  TJiat  is  what  I  have  to  do  ! '  I  thought  immediately. 
4  That  is  my  part.  That  is  clear.  What  I  have  to  do, 
is  to  let  my  light  shine.  And  if  the  light  shines,  per 
haps  it  will  fall  on  something.  But  what  I  have  to  do, 
is  to  shine.  God  has  given  me  nothing  else.' 

It  was  a  very  simple,  child's  thought ;  but  it  brought 
wonderful  comfort  with  it.  Doubtless,  I  would  have 
liked  another  part  to  play.  I  would  have  liked  —  if  I 
could  —  to  have  righted  all  the  wrong  in  the  world  ;  to 
have  broken  every  yoke ;  to  have  filled  every  empty 
house,  and  built  up  a  fire  on  every  cold  hearth ;  but 
that  was  not  what  God  had  given  me.  All  he  had 
given  me,  that  I  could  see  at  the  minute,  was  to  shine. 
What  a  little  morsel  of  a  light  mine  was,  to  be  sure  ! 

It  was  a  good  deal  of  a  puzzle  to  me  for  days  after 
that,  how  I  was  to  shine.  What  could  I  do?  I  was  a 
little  child  ;  my  only  duties  some  lessons  to  learn ;  not 


IN   THE   KITCHEN.  ML 

much  of  that,  seeing  I  had  not  strength  for  it.  Cer 
tainty  I  had  sorrows  to  bear ;  but  bearing  them  well 
did  not  seem  to  me  to  come  within  the  sphere  of  shin 
ing.  Who  would  know  that  I  bore  them  well  ?  And 
shining  is  meant  to  be  seen.  I  pondered  the  matter. 

4When's  Christmas,  Miss  Daisy?' 

Margaret  asked  this  question  one  morning  as  she 
was  on  her  knees  making  my  fire.  Christmas  had  been 
so  shadowed  a  point  to  me  in  the  distance,  I  had  not 
looked  at  it.  I  stopped  to  calculate  the  days. 

1  It  will  be  two  weeks  from  Friday,  Margaret/ 

4  And  Friday's  to-morrow  ? '  she  asked. 

4  The  day  after  to-morrow.  What  do  you  do  at 
Christmas,  Margaret?  all  the  people?' 

4  There  aint  no  great  doings,  Miss  Daisy.  The  peo 
ple  gets  four  days,  most  of  'em.' 

4  Four  days  —  for  what  ? ' 

'  For  what  they  likes  ;  they  don't  do  no  work,  those 
days.' 

4  And  is  that  all?' 

4  No,  Miss  Daisy,  'taint  just  all ;  the  women  comes 
up  to  the  house  —  it's  to  the  overseer's  house  now  — 
and  every  one  gets  a  bowl  o'  flour,  more  or  less,  'cordin' 
to  size  of  family —  and  a  quart  of  molasses,  and  a  piece 
o'  pork.' 

4  And  what  do  they  do  to  make  the  time  pleasant  ?  ' 
I  asked. 

4  Some  on  'em's  raised  eggs  and  chickens  ;  and  they 
brings  'em  to  the  house  and  sells  'em ;  and  they  has 
the  best  dinner.  Most  times  they  gets  leave  to  have  a 
meetin'.' 

4  A  prayermeeting?'  I  said. 

4  Laws,  no,  Miss  Daisy !  not  'cept  it  were  uncle 
9* 


W2  TJAISY. 

Dariy  and  Ms  set.  TAe  others  don't  make  no  count 
of  a  prayermeetin'.  The}r  likes  to  have  a  whit>folks' 
meetin'  and  'joy  theirselves.' 

I  thought  very  much  over  these  statements  ;  and  for 
the  next  two  weeks,  bowls  of  flour  and  quarts  of  mo 
lasses,  as  Christmas  doings,  were  mixed  up  in  my 
mind  with  the  question,  how  I  was  to  shine?  or  rather, 
alternated  with  it ;  and  plans  began  to  turn  themselves 
over  and  take  shape  in  my  thoughts. 

'  Margaret/  said  I  a  day  or  two  before  Christmas, 
4  can't  the  people  have  those  meetings  you  spoke  of, 
without  getting  leave  of  Mr.  Edwards?' 

'  Can't  have  meetin's  no  how  ! '  Margaret  replied  de 
cided^. 

'  But,  if  J  wanted  to  see  them,  couldn't  they,  some 
of  them,  come  together  to  see  me?' 

'  To  see  Miss  Daisy  !  Reckon  Miss  Daisy  do  what 
she  like.  'Spect  Mass'  Ed'ards  let  Miss  Daisy 
'lone ! ' 

I  was  silent,  pondering. 

'  Maria  cook  wants  to  see  Miss  Daisy  bad.  She  bid 
me  tell  Miss  Daisy  won't  she  come  down  in  de  kitchen, 
and  see  all  the  works  she's  a  doin'  for  Christmas,  and 
de  gl6rifications  ? ' 

'  I  ?     I'll  come  if  I  can,'  I  answered. 

I  asked  my  aunt  and  got  easy  leave  ;  and  Christmas 
eve  I  went  down  to  the  kitchen.  That  was  the  chosen 
time  when  Maria  wished  to  see  me.  There  was  an 
assembly  of  servants  gathered  in  the  room,  some  from 
out  of  the  house.  Darry  was  there ;  and  one  or  two 
other  fine-looking  men  who  were  his  prayermeeting 
friends.  I  supposed  they  were  gathered  to  make  merry 
for  Christmas  eve ;  but  at  any  rate  they  were  all  eager 


IN   THE   KITCHEN.  103 

to  see  i^e,  and  looked  at  me  with  smiles  as  gentle  as 
have  ever  fallen  to  my  share.  I  felt  it  and  enjoyed  it. 
The  effect  was  of  entering  a  warm,  genial  atmosphere, 
where  grace  and  good  will  were  on  every  side ;  a 
change  very  noticeable  from  the  cold  and  careless 
habit  of  things  up  stairs.  And  grace  is  not  a  misap 
plied  epithet ;  for  these  children  of  a  luxurious  and 
beauty-loving  race,  even  in  their  bondage  had  not  for 
gotten  all  traces  of  their  origin.  As  I  went  in,  I  could 
not  help  giving  my  hand  to  Darry ;  and  then,  in  my 
childish  feeling  towards  them  and  in  the  tenderness  of 
the  Christmas-tide,  I  could  not  help  doing  the  same  by 
all  the  others  who  were  present.  And  I  remember  now 
the  dignity  of  mien  in  some,  the  frank  ease  in  others, 
both  graceful  and  gracious,  with  which  my  civility  was 
met.  If  a  few  were  a  little  shy,  the  rest  more  than 
made  it  up  by  their  welcome  of  me  and  a  sort  of 
politeness  which  had  almost  something  courtly  in  it. 
Darry  and  Maria  together  gave  me  a  seat,  in  the  very 
centre  and  glow  of  the  kitchen  light  and  warmth  ;  and 
the  rest  made  a  half  circle  around,  leaving  Maria's  end 
of  the  room  free  for  her  operations. 

The  kitchen  was  all  aglow  with  the  most  splendid 
fire  of  pine  knots  it  was  ever  my  lot  to  see.  Tha  illu 
mination  was  such  as  threw  all  gaslights  into  shade. 
We  were  in  a  great,  stone-flagged  room,  low-roofed, 
with  dark  cupboard  doors  ;  not  cheerful  1  fancy  in  the 
mere  light  of  day ;  but  nothing  could  resist  the  influ 
ence  of  those  pine-knot  flames.  Maria  herself  was  a 
portly  fat  woman,  as  far  as  possible  from  handsome ; 
but  she  locked  at  me  with  a  whole  world  of  kindness 
in  her  dark  face.  Indeed  I  saw  the  same  kindness 
more  or  less  shining  out  upon  me  in  all  the  faces  there. 


104  DAISY. 

I  cannot  tell  the  mixed  joy  and  pain  that  it,  and  they, 
gave  me.  I  suppose  I  shewed  little  of  either,  or  of 
anything. 

Maria  entertained  me  with  all  she  had.    She  brought 
out  for  my  view  her  various  rich  and  immense  stores 
of  cakes  and  pies  and  delicacies  for  the  coming  fes 
tival  ;  told  me  what  was  good  and  what  I  must  be  sure 
and  eat ;  and  what  would  be  good  for  me.     And  then, 
when  that  display  was  over,  she  began  to  be  very  busy 
with  beating  of  eggs  in  a  huge  wooden  bowl ;  and  bade 
Darry  see  to  the  boiling  of  the  kettle  at  the  fire  ;  and 
sent  Jem  the  waiter  for  things  he  was  to  get  up  stairs  ; 
and  all  the  while  talked  to  me.     She  and  Darry  and 
one  or  two  more  talked,  but  especially  she  and  The 
resa  and  Jem  ;  while  all  the  rest  listened  and  laughed 
and  exclaimed  and  seemed  to  find  me  as  entertaining 
as  a  play.     Maria  was  asking  me  about  my  own  little 
life  and  experiences  before  I  came  to  Magnolia  ;  \vhat 
sort  of  a  place  Melbourne  was,  and  how  things  there 
differed  from  the  things  she  and  the  rest  knew  and 
were  accustomed  to  at  the  South ;  and  about  my  old 
June,  who  had  once  been  an  acquaintance  of  hers.  Smil 
ing  at  me  the  while,  between  the  thrusts  of  her  curios 
ity,  and  over  my  answers,  as  if  for  sheer  pleasure  she 
could  not  keep  grave.     The  other  faces  were  as  inter 
ested  and  as  gracious.     There  was  Pete,  tall  and  very 
black,  and  very  grave,  as  Darry  was  also.     There  was 
Jem,  full  of  life  and  waggishness,  and  bright  for  any 
exercise  of  his  wits  ;  and  grave  shadows  used  to  come 
over  his  changeable  face  often  enough  too.     There  was 
Margaret,  with  her  sombre  beauty ;  and  old  Theresa 
with  her  worn  old  face ;  I  think  there  was  a  certain 
indescribable  reserve  of  gravitj-  upon  1uem   alL  but 


IN  THE   KITCHEN.  105 

there  was  not  one  whose  lips  did  not  part  in  a  white 
line  when  looking  at  me,  nor  whose  eyes  and  ears  did 
not  watch  me  with  an  interest  as  benign  as  it  was 
intent.  I  had  been  little  while  seated  before  the 
kitchen  fire  of  pine  knots  before  I  felt  that  I  was  in 
the  midst  of  a  circle  of  personal  friends  ;  and  I  feel  it 
now,  as  I  look  back  and  remember  them.  They  would 
have  done  much  for  me,  every  one. 

Meanwhile  Maria  beat  and  mixed  and  stirred  the 
things  in  her  wooden  bowl ;  and  by  and  by  ladled  out 
a  glassful  of  rich-looking,  yellow,  creamy  froth  —  I  did 
not  know  what  it  was,  only  it  looked  beautiful  —  and 
presented  it  to  me. 

'  Miss  Daisy  mus'  tell  Mis'  Felissy  Maria  haint 
forgot  how  to  make  it  —  'spect  she  haint,  anyhow. 
Dat's  for  Miss  Daisy's  Christmas.' 

'  It's  very  nice  ! '  I  said. 

'  Reckon  it  is, '  was  the  capable  answer. 

'Won't  you  give  everybody  some,  Maria?'  For 
Jem  had  gone  up  stairs  with  a  tray  of  glasses,  and 
Maria  seemed  to  be  resting  upon  her  labours. 

4  Dere  '11  come  down  orders  for  mo,'  chile  ;  and  'spose 
I  gives  it  to  de  company,  what'll  Mis'  'Lisa  do  wid 
Maria?  I  have  de  'sponsibility  of  Christmas.' 

'  But  you  can  make  some  more,'  I  said,  holding  my 
glass  in  waiting.  '  Do,  Maria.' 

4  'Spose  haint  got  de  'terials,  hey?' 

'  What  do  you  want  ?  Aunt  Gary  will  give  it  to 
you.'  And  I  begged  Jem  to  go  up  again  and  prefer 
my  request  to  her  for  the  new  filling  of  Maria's  bowl. 
Jem  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  he  went ;  and  I  sup 
pose  he  made  a  good  story  of  it ;  for  he  came  clown 
with  whatever  was  wanted  —  my  aunt  Gary  was  in  a 


106  DAISY. 

mood  to  refuse  me  nothing  then  —  and  Maria  went 
anew  about  the  business  of  beating  and  mixing  and 
compounding. 

There  was  great  enjoyment  in  the  kitchen.  It  was 
a  time  of  high  festival,  what  with  me  and  the  egg 
supper.  Merriment  and  jocularity,  a  little  tide-wave 
of  social  excitement,  swelled  and  broke  on  all  sides  of 
me ;  making  a  soft  ripply  play  of  fun  and  repartee, 
difficult  to  describe,  and  which  touched  me  as  much 
as  it  amused.  It  was  very  unlike  the  enjoyment  of  a 
set  of  white  people  holding  the  same  social  and  intel 
lectual  grade.  It  was  the  manifestation  of  another 
race,  less  coarse  and  animal  in  their  original  nature, 
more  sensitive  and  more  demonstrative,  with  a  strange 
touch  of  the  luxurious  and  refined,  for  a  people 
whose  life  has  had  nothing  to  do  with  luxury  and  whom 
refinement  leaves  on  one  side  as  quite  beyond  its 
sphere.  But  blood  is  a  strange  thing ;  and  Ham's 
children  will  shew  luxurious  and  aesthetic  tastes,  take 
them  where  you  will. 

'  Chillen,  I  hope  you's  enjoyed  your  supper,'  Maria 
said,  when  the  last  lingering  drops  had  been  secured, 
and  mugs  and  glasses  were  coming  back  to  the  kitchen 
table. 

Words  and  smiles  answered  her.  '  We's  had  a 
splendid  time,  aunt  Maria,'  said  one  young  man  as  he 
set  down  his  glass.  He  was  a  worker  in  the  garden. 

'  Den  I  hope  we's  all  willin'  to  gib  de  Lord  t'anks 
for  his  goodness.  Dere  aint  a  night  in  de  year  when 
it's  so  proper  to  gib  de  Lord  t'anks,  as  it  be  dis  pre 
cious  night/ 

'  It's  to-morrow  night,  aunt  Maria,'  said  Pete.  '  To 
morrow's  Christinas  night.' 


TJVr   THE   KITCHEN.  107 

4 1  don't  care  !  One  night's  jus*  as  good  as  another, 
you  Pete.  And  now  we's  all  together,  you  see,  and 
comfortable  together ;  and  I  feel  like  giving  t'anks,  I 
do,  to  cle  Lord,  for  all  his  mercies.' 

'  What's  Christmas,  anyhow  ? '  asked  another. 

1  It's  jus'  de  crown  o'  all  de  nights  in  de  year.  You 
Solomon,  it's  a  night  dat  dey  keeps  up  in  heaven. 
You  know  nothin'  about  it,  you  poor  critter.  I  done 
believe  you  never  hearn  no  one  tell  about  it.  Maybe 
Miss  Daisy  wouldn't  read  us  de  story,  and  de  angels, 
and  de  shepherds,  and  dat  great  light  what  come  down, 
and  make  us  feel  good  for  Christmas  ;  and  uncle  Darry, 
he'll  t'ank  de  Lord.' 

The  last  words  were  put  in  a  half  questioning  form 
to  me,  rather  taking  for  granted  that  I  would  readily 
do  what  was  requested.  And  hardly  anything  in  the 
world,  I  suppose,  could  have  given  me  such  deep  grati 
fication  at  the  moment.  Margaret  was  sent  up  stairs 
to  fetch  my  Bible ;  the  circle  closed  in  around  the  fire 
and  me ;  a  circle  of  listening,  waiting,  eager,  inter 
ested  faces  ;  some  few  of  them  shone  with  pleasure  or 
grew  grave  with  reverent  love  ;  while  I  read  slowly  the 
chapters  that  tell  of  the  first  Christmas  night.  I  read 
them  from  all  the  gospels ;  picking  the  story  out  first 
in  one,  then  in  another ;  answered  sometimes  by  low 
words  of  praise  that  echoed  but  did  not  interrupt  me ; 
words  that  were  but  some  dropped  notes  of  the  song 
that  began  that  night  in  heaven,  and  has  been  running 
along  the  ages  since,  and  is  swelling  and  will  swell 
into  a  great  chorus  of  earth  and  heaven  by  and  by. 
And  how  glad  I  was  in  the  words  of  the  story  myself, 
as  I  went  along.  How  heart-glad ;  that  here,  in  this 
region  of  riches  and  hopes  not  earthly,  those  around 


108  DAISY. 

me  had  as  good  welcome  and  as  open  entrance  and  as 
free  right  as  I.  4  There  is  neither  bond  nor  free/ 
c  And  base  things  of  this  world,  and  things  which  are 
despised,  hath  God  chosen,  yea,  and  things  which  are 
not,  to  bring  to  nought  things  that  are.' 

I  finished  my  reading  at  last,  amid  the  hush  of  my 
listening  audience.  Then  Maria  called  upon  Darry  to 
pray,  and  we  all  kneeled  down. 

It  comes  back  to  me  now  as  I  write  —  the  hush,  and 
the  breathing  of  the  fire,  and  Dairy's  low  voice  and 
imperfect  English.  Yes,  and  the  incoming  tide  of  rest 
and  peace  and  gladness  which  began  to  fill  the  dry 
places  in  my  heart,  and  rose  and  swelled  till  my  heart 
was  full.  I  lost  my  troubles  and  forgot  my  difficulties. 
I  forgot  that  my  father  and  mother  were  away,  for  the 
sense  of  loneliness  was  gone.  I  forgot  that  those 
around  me  were  in  bonds,  for  I  felt  them  free  as  I,  and 
inheritors  of  the  same  kingdom.  I  have  not  often  in 
my  life  listened  to  such  a  prayer,  unless  from  the  same 
lips.  He  was  one  of  those  that  make  you  feel  that  the 
door  is  open  to  their  knocking  and  that  they  always 
find  it  so.  His  words  were  seconded  —  not  in 
terrupted,  even  to  my  feeling  —  by  low  breathed 
echoes  of  praise  and  petition ;  too  soft  and  deep  tc 
leave  any  doubt  of  the  movement  that  called  then: 
forth. 

There  was  a  quiet  gravity  upon  the  company  when 
we  lose  to  our  feet  again.  I  knew  I  must  go  ;  but  the 
kitchen  had  been  the  pleasantest  place  to  me  in  all 
Magnolia.  I  bade  them  good  night,  answered  with 
bows  and  curtseys  and  hearty  wishes  ;  and  as  I  passed 
out  of  the  circle,  tall  black  Pete,  looking  down  upon 


IN   THE   KITCHEN.  109 

me  vith  just  a  glimmer  of  white  between  his  lips, 
added,  4  Hope  you'll  come  again.' 

A  thought  darted  into  my  head  which  brought  sun 
shine  with  it.  I  seemed  to  see  my  way  begin  to  open. 

The  hope  was  warm  at  my  heart  as  soon  as  I  was 
awake  the  next  morning.  With  more  comfort  than  for 
many  days  I  had  known,  I  lay  and  watched  Margaret 
making  my  fire.  Then  suddenly  I  remembered  it  was 
Christmas,  and  what  thanksgivings  had  been  in  heaven 
about  it,  and  what  should  be  on  earth  ;  and  a  lingering 
of  the  notes  of  praise  I  had  heard  last  night  made  a 
sort  of  still  music  in  the  air.  But  I  did  not  expect  at 
all  that  any  of  the  ordinary  Christmas  festivities  would 
come  home  to  me,  seeing  that  my  father  and  mother 
were  away.  Where  should  Christmas  festivities  come 
from?  So  when  Margaret  rose  up  and  shewed  all  her 
teeth  at  me,  I  only  thought  last  night  had  given  her 
pleasure ;  and  I  suspected  nothing,  even  when  she 
stepped  into  the  next  room  and  brought  in  a  little 
table  covered  with  a  shawl,  and  set  it  close  by  my  bed 
side.  ;  Am  I  to  have  breakfast  in  bed  ? '  I  asked. 
'What  is  this  for?' 

'  Dunno,  Miss  Daisy,'  said  Margaret,  with  all  her 
white  teeth  sparkling  ;  —  c  'spose  Miss  Dais}7  take  just 
a  look,  and  see  what  'pears  like.' 

I  felt  the  colour  come  into  my  face.  I  raised  my 
self  on  my  elbow  and  lifted  up  cautiously  one  corner 
of  the  shawl.  Packages  —  white  paper  and  brown 
paper  —  long  and  short,  large  and  small!  4O  Mar 
garet,  take  off  the  shawl,  won't  you  ! '  I  cried  ;  —  '  and 
let  me  see  what  is  here.' 

There  was  a  good  deal.  But  '  From  papa '  —  caught 
my  eye  on  a  little  parcel.  I  seized  it  and  unfolded. 
10 


110  DAISY. 

From  papa,  and  he  so  far  away !  But  I  guessed  .the 
riddle  before  I  could  get  to  the  last  of  the  folds  of 
pnper  that  wrapped  and  enwrapped  a  little  moroccc 
case.  Papa  and  mamma,  leaving  me  alone,  had  made 
provision  beforehand,  that  when  this  time  came  I 
might  miss  nothing  except  themselves.  They  had 
thought  and  cared  and  arranged  for  me  ;  and  now  they 
were  thinking  about  it,  perhaps,  far  away  somewhere 
over  the  sea.  I  held  the  morocco  case  in  my  hand  a 
minute  or  two  before  I  could  open  it.  Then  I  found  a 
little  watch ;  my  dear  little  watch !  which  has  gone 
with  me  ever  since,  and  never  failed  nor  played  tricks 
with  me.  My  mother  had  put  in  one  of  her  own  chains 
for  me  to  wear  with  it. 

I  lay  a  long  time  looking  and  thinking,  raised  up  on 
my  elbow  as  I  was,  before  I  could  leave  the  watch  aiid 
go  on  to  anything  else.  Margaret  spread  round  my 
shoulders  the  shawl  which  had  covered  the  Christmas 
table ;  and  then  she  stood  waiting,  with  a  good  deal 
more  impatience  and  curiosity  than  I  shewed.  But 
such  a  world  of  pleasure  and  pain  gathered  round  that 
first  '  bit  of  Christmas  '  —  so  many,  many  thoughts  of 
one  and  the  other  kind  —  that  I  for  awhile  had  enough 
with  that.  At  last  I  closed  the  case,  and  keeping  it 
yet  in  one  hand,  used  the  other  to  make  more  dis 
coveries.  The  package  labelled  '  From  mamma/  took 
my  attention  next ;  but  I  could  make  nothing  of  it. 
An  elegant  little  box,  that  was  all,  which  I  could  not 
open  ;  only  it  felt  so  very  heavy  that  I  was  persuaded 
there  must  be  something  extraordinary  inside.  I  could 
make  nothing  of  it ;  it  was  a  beautiful  box  ;  that  was 
all.  Preston  had  brought  me  a  little  riding  whip ; 
both  costly  and  elegant.  I  could  not  but  be  much 


IN  THE   KITCHEN.  Ill 

pleased  with  it.  A  large,  rather  soft  package  marked 
with  aunt  Gary's  name,  unfolded  a  riding  cap  to  inatch  ; 
at  least  it  was  exceeding  rich  and  stylish,  with  a  black 
feather  that  waved  away  in  curves  that  called  forth  Mar 
garet's  delighted  admiration.  Nevertheless,  I  wondered 
while  I  admired,  at  my  aunt  Ga^'s  choice  of  a 
present.  I  had  a  straw  hat  which  served  all  purposes, 
even  of  elegance,  for  my  notions.  I  was  amazed  to  find 
that  Miss  Pinshon  had  not  forgotten  me.  There  was 
a  decorated  pen,  wreathed  with  a  cord  of  crimson  and 
gold  twist  and  supplemented  with  two  dangling  tassels. 
It  was  excessively  pretty,  as  I  thought  of  aunt 
Gary's  cap  ;  and  not  equally  convenient.  I  looked  at 
all  these  things  while  Margaret  was  dressing  me  ;  but 
the  case  with  the  watch,  for  the  most  part,  I  remember 
I  kept  in  my  hand. 

'  Aint  you  goin'  to  try  it  on  and  see  some  how  pretty 
it  looks,  Miss  Daisy?'  said  my  unsatisfied  attendant. 

'  The  cap  ? '  said  I.  '  O  I  dare  say  it  fits.  Aunt 
Gary  knows  how  big  my  head  is.' 

'  Mass'  Preston  come  last  night/  she  went  on  ;  'so 
I  reckon  Miss  Daisy'll  want  to  wear  it  by  and  by.' 

'  Preston  come  last  night ! '  I  said.  ;  After  I  was  in 
bed  ? '  —  and  feeling  that  it  was  indeed  Christmas,  I 
finished  getting  ready  and  went  down  stairs.  I  made 
up  my  mind  I  might  as  well  be  friends  with  Preston, 
and  not  push  any  further  my  displeasure  at  his  be 
haviour.  So  we  had  a  comfortable  breakfast.  My 
aunt  was  pleased  to  see  me,  she  said,  look  so  much 
better.  Miss  Pinshon  was  not  given  to  expressing 
what  she  felt ;  but  she  looked  at  me  two  or  three  times 
without  saying  anything,  which  I  suppose  meant  satis 
faction.  Preston  was  in  high  feather ;  making  all 


112  DAISY. 

sorts  of  plans  for  my  divertisement  during  the  next  few 
days.  I  for  my  part  had  my  own  secret  cherished 
plan,  which  made  my  heart  beat  quicker  whenever  I 
thought  of  it.  But  I  wanted  somebody's  counsel  and 
help ;  and  on  the  whole  I  thought  my  aunt  Gary's 
would,  be  the  safest.  So  after  breakfast  I  consulted 
Preston  only  about  my  mysterious  little  box,  which 
would  not  open.  Was  it  a  paper  weight  ? 

Preston  smiled,  took  up  the  box  and  performed 
some  conjuration  upon  it,  and  then —  I  cannot  describe 
my  entranced  delight  —  as  he  set  it  down  again  on  the 
table,  the  room  seemed  to  grow  musical.  Softest,  most 
liquid  sweet  notes  came  pouring  forth  one  after  the 
other,  binding  my  ears  as  if  I  had  been  in  a  state  of 
enchantment.  Binding  feet  and  hands  and  almost  my 
breath,  as  I  stood  hushed  and  listening  to  the  liquid 
warbling  of  delicious  things,  until  the  melody. had  run 
itself  out.  It  was  a  melody  unknown  to  me  ;  wild  and 
dainty  ;  it  came  out  of  a  famous  opera  I  was  told  after 
ward.  When  the  fairy  notes  sunk  into  silence,  I 
turned  mutely  towards  Preston.  Preston  laughed. 

i  I  declare  ! '  he  said,  — '  I  declare  !  Hurra  !  you 
have  got  colour  in  your  cheeks,  Daisy ;  absolutely,  my 
little  Daisy  !  there  is  a  real  streak  of  pink  there  where 
it  was  so  white  before.' 

'  What  is  it?'  said  I. 

4  Just  a  little  good  blood  coming  up  under  the  skin.' 

4  O,  no,  Preston  —  this;  what  is  it?' 

'  A  musical  box.' 

'  But  where  does  the  music  come  from  ?  ' 

'  Out  of  the  box.  See,  Daisy  ;  when  it  has  done  a 
tune  and  is  run  out,  you  must  wind  it  up,  so,  —  like  a 
watch  — ' 


72V   THE  KITCHEN.  113 

He  wound  it  up  and  set  it  on  the  table  again.  And 
again  a  melody  came  forth,  and  this  time  it  was  differ 
ent  ;  not  plaintive  and  thoughtful,  but  jocund  and  glad  ; 
a  little  shout  and  ring  of  merriment,  like  the  feet  of 
dancers  scattering  the  drops  of  dew  in  a  bright  morn 
ing  ;  or  like  the  chime  of  a  thousand  little  silver  bells 
rung  for  laughter.  A  sort  of  intoxication  came  into 
my  heart.  When  Preston  would  have  wound  up  the 
box  again,  I  stopped  him.  I  was  full  of  the  delight. 
I  could  not  hear  any  more  just  then. 

4  Why  Daisy,  there  are  ever  so  many  more  tunes.' 

4  Yes.  I  am  glad.  I  will  have  them  another  time/ 
I  answered.  '  How  very  kind,  .of  mamma  ! ' 

4  Hit  the  right  thing  this  time,  didn't  she  ?  How's 
the  riding  cap,  Daisy  ? ' 

4  It  is  very  nice,'  I  said.  '  Aunt  Gary  is  very  good  ; 
and  I  like  the  whip  very  much,  Preston.' 

4  That  fat  little  rascal  will  want  it.  Does  the  cap 
fit,  Daisy  ? ' 

4 1  don't  know/  I  said.     4  O  yes,  I  suppose  so.' 

Preston  made  an  exclamation,  and  forthwith  would 
have  it  tried  on  to  see  how  it  looked.  It  satisfied  him  ; 
somehow  it  did  not  please  me  as  well ;  but  the  ride 
did,  which  we  had  soon  after ;  and  I  found  that  my 
black  feather  certainly  suited  everybody  else.  Darry 
smiled  at  me,  and  the  house  servants  were  exultant 
over  my  appearance. 

Amid  all  these  distracting  pleasures,  I  kept  on  the 
watch  for  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  aunt  Gary  alone. 
Christmas  day  I  could  not.  I  could  not  get  it  till 
near  the  end  of  the  next  day. 

4  Aunt  Gary/  I  saii,  4 1  want  to  consult  you  about 
something.' 

10* 


114  DAISY. 

1  You  have  always  something  turning  about  in  yor.r 
head,'  —  was  her  answer. 

'  Do  you  think,'  said  I  slowly,  4  Mr.  Edwards  would 
have  any  objection  to  some  of  the  people  coming  to 
the  kitchen  Sunday  evenings  to  hear  me  read  the 
Bible?' 

'  To  hear  you  read  the  Bible  !  "  said  my  aunt. 

4  Yes,  aunt  Gary  ;  I  think  they  would  like  it.  You 
know  they  cannot  read  it  for  themselves.' 

4  They  would  like  it.  And  you  would  be  delighted, 
wouldn't  you  ? ' 

4  Yes,  aunt  Gary.  I  should  like  it  better  than 
anything.' 

v  You  are  a  funny  child !  There  is  not  a  bit  of  your 
mother  in  you  —  except  your  obstmac}^.' 

And  my  aunt  seemed  to  ponder  my  difference. 

'Would  Mr.  Edwards  object  to  it,  do  you  think? 
Would  he  let  them  come  ? ' 

'  The  question  is,  whether  I  will  let  them  come. 
Mr.  Edwards  has  no  business  with  what  is  done  in  the 
house.' 

4  But,  aunt  Gary,  you  would  not  have  any  objec 
tion.' 

'  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure.  I  wish  your  father  and 
mother  had  never  left  you  in  my  charge ;  for  I  don't 
know  how  to  take  care  of  you.' 

4  Aunt  Gary,'  I  said,  4  please  don't  object !  There 
is  nobody  to  read  the  Bible  to  them  —  and  I  should 
like  to  do  it  very  much/ 

'Yes,  I  see  you  would.  There  —  don't  get  excited 
about  it  —  every  Sunday  evening,  did  you  say?' 

'Yes,  ma'am  —  if  you  please.' 

4  Daisy,  it  will  just  tire  you  ;  that's  what  it  will  do. 


IN   THE   KITCHEN.  115 

I  know  it,  just  as  well  as  if  I  had  seen  it.  You  are 
not  strong  enough.' 

'  I  am  sure  it  would  refresh  me,  aunt  Gary.  It  did 
the  other  night.' 

'The  other  night?' 

4  Christmas  eve,  ma'am.' 

'  Did  yon  read  to  them  then  ? ' 

'  Yes,  ma'am  ;  they  wanted  to  know  what  Christmas 
was  about.' 

4  And  you  read  to  them.    You  are  the  oddest  child  ! ' 

4  But  aunt  Gary,  never  mind, — it  would  be  the 
greatest  pleasure  to  me.  Won't  you  give  leave  ? ' 

1  The  servants  hear  the  Bible  read,  child,  every 
morning  and  every  night.' 

4  Yes,  but  that  is  only  a  very  few  of  the  house  ser 
vants.  I  want  some  of  the  others  to  come  —  a  good 
many,  —  as  many  as  can  come.' 

4 1  wish  your  mother  and  father  were  here,'  sighed 
my  aunt. 

4  Do  you  think  Mr.  Edwards  would  make  any  objec 
tion?  '  I  asked  again,  presuming  on  the  main  question 
being  carried.  4  Would  he  let  them  come? ' 

'  Let  them  ! '  echoed  my  aunt.  4  Mr.  Edwards  would 
be  well  employed,  to  interfere  with  anything  the  family 
choose  to  do.' 

4  But  you  know  he  does  not  let  them  meet  together, 
the  people,  aunt  Gary ;  not  unless  they  have  his  per 
mission.' 

4  No,  I  suppose  so.     That  is  his  business.' 

4  Then  will  you  speak  to  him,  ma'am,  so  that  he  may 
not  be  angry  with  the  people  when  they  come  ? ' 

4 1  ?  No,'  said  my  aunt.  4 1  have  nothing  to  do 
with  your  father's  overseer.  It  would  just  make  diffi- 


116  DAISY. 

culty  maybe,  Daisy ;  you  had  better  let  this  scheme 
of  yours  alone.' 

I  could  not,  without  bitter  disappointment.  Yet  I 
did  not  know  how  further  to  press  the  matter.  I  sat 
still  and  said  nothing. 

'  I  declare,  if  she  isn't  growing  pale  about  it ! ' 
exclaimed  my  aunt.  c  I  know  one  thing,  and  that  is, 
your  father  and  mother  ought  to  have  taken  you  along 
with  them.  I  have  not  the  least  idea  how  to  manage 
you  ;  not  the  least.  What  is  it  you  want  to  do, 
Daisy?'  — 
,  I  explained,  over  again. 

4  And  now  if  you  cannot  have  this  trick  of  your 
fancy  you  will  just  fidget  yourself  sick!  I  see  it. 
Just  as  you  went  driving  all  about  Melbourne  without 
company  to  take  care  of  you.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know. 
It  is  not  in  my  way  to  meddle  with  overseers  —  How 
many  people  do  you  want  to  read  to  at  once,  Daisy  ? ' 

4  As  many  as  I  can,  aunt  Gar}'.  But  Mr.  Edwards 
will  not  let  two  or  three  meet  together  anywhere.' 

i  Well  I  dare  say  he  is  right.  You  can't  believe 
anything  in  the  world  these  people  tell  you,  child. 
They  will  lie  just  as  fast  as  they  will  speak/ 

'  But  if  they  came  to  see  me,  aunt  Gary  ? '  I  per 
sisted,  waiving  the  other  question. 

'That's  another  thing,  of  course.  Well,  don't 
worry.  Call  Preston.  Why  children  cannot  be  chil 
dren,  passes  my  comprehension!' 

Preston  came,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  discuss 
ing  of  my  plan  ;  at  which  Preston  frowned  and  whistled, 
but  on  the  whole,  though  I  knew  against  his  will,  took 
my  part.  The  end  was,  my  aunt  sent  for  the  overseer. 
She  had  some  difficulty,  I  judge,  in  carrying  the  point ; 


IN  THE  KITCHEN.  117 

and  made  capital  of  my  ill-health  and  delioacy  and 
spoiled-ohild  character.  The  overseer's  unwilling  con 
sent  was  gained  at  last ;  the  conditions  being,  that 
every  one  who  came  to  hear  the  reading  should  have  a 
ticket  of  leave,  written  and  signed  by  myself,  for  each 
evening ;  and  that  I  should  be  present  with  the  assem 
bly  from  the  beginning  to  the  close  of  it. 

My  delight  was  very  great.  And  my  aunt,  grum 
bling  at  the  whole  matter  and  especially  at  her  share 
in  it,  found  an  additional  cause  of  grumbling  in  that, 
she  said,  I  had  looked  twenty  per  cent,  better  evei 
since  this  foolish  thing  got  possession  of  my  head. 
'  I  am  wondering,'  she  remarked  to  Miss  Pinshon, 
1  whatever  Daisy  will  do  when  she  grows  up.  I  ex 
pect  nothing  but  she  will  be  —  what  do  you  call  them  ? 
—  one  of  those  people  who  run  wild  over  the  human 
race.' 

1  Pirates  ?  '  suggested  Preston.     '  Or  corsairs  ? ' 

4  Her  mother  will  be  disappointed,'  went  on  my 
aunt.  '  That  is  what  I  confidently  expect.' 

Miss  Pinshon  hinted  something  about  the  corrective 
qualities  of  mathematics  ;  but  I  was  too  happy  to  heed 
her  or  care.  Iwas  stronger  and  better,  I  believe,  from 
that  day  ;  though  I  had  not  much  to  boast  of.  A  true 
tonic  had  been  administered  to  me  ;  my  fainting  ener 
gies  took  a  new  start. 

I  watched  my  opportunity,  and  went  down  to  the 
kitchen  one  evening  to  make  my  preparations.  I  found 
Maria  alone  and  sitting  in  state  before  the  fire  —  which 
I  believe  was  always  in  the  kitchen  a  regal  one.  I 
hardly  ever  saw  it  anything  else.  She  welcomed  me 
with  great  suavity  ;  drew  up  a  chair  for  me  ;  and  find- 


113  DAISY. 

ing  I  had  something  to  say,  sat  then  quite  grave  and 
still  looking  into  the  blaze,  while  I  unfolded  my  plan. 

4  De  Lord  is  bery  good ! '  was  her  subdued  com 
ment,  made  when  I  had  done.  '  He  hab  sent  his  angel  ? 
sure ! ' 

4  Now,  Maria,'  I  went  on,  '  you  must  tell  me  who 
would  like  to  come  next  Sunday,  you  think ;  and  I 
must  make  tickets  for  them.  Every  one  must  have  ray 
ticket,  with  his  name  on  it ;  and  then  there  will  be  no 
fault  found.' 

4 1  s'pose  not/  said  Maria,  — fc  wid  Miss  Daisy's 
name  on  it.' 

4  Who  will  come,  Maria?' 

4  Laws,  chile,  dere's  heaps.  Dere's  Dairy,  and  Pete 
—  Pete,  he  say  de  meetin'  de  oder  night  war  'bout  de 
best  meetin'  he  eber  'tended ;  he  wouldn't  miss  it  for 
not'ing  in  de  world ;  he's  sure ;  and  dere's  ole  'Lize ; 
and  de  two  Jems  —  no,  dere's  tree  Jems  dat  is  ser'ous  ; 
and  Stark,  and  Car'l  and  Sharlim  — ' 

4  Sharlim?'  said  I,  not  knowing  that  this  was  the 
Caifir  for  Charlemagne. 

4  Sharlim,'  Maria  repeated.  4  He  don'  know  much  ; 
but  he  has  a  leanin'  for  de  good  tings.  And  Darry,  he 
can  tell  who'll  come.  I  done  forget  all  de  folks' 
names.' 

4  Why,  Maria,'  I  said,  4 1  did  not  know  there  were 
so  many  people  at  Magnolia  that  cared  about  the 
Bible.' 

4  What  has  'um  to  care  for,  chile,  I  should  like  fur  to 
know.  Dere  aint  much  mo'  in  dis  world.' 

4  But  I  thought  there  were  only  very  few,'  I  said. 

4  Spose  um  fifty,'  said  Maria.  4  Fifty  aint  much,  I 
reckon,  when  dere's  all  de  rest  o'  de  folks  what  don't 


IN  THE  KITCHEN.  119 

care.  De  Lord's  people  is  a  little  people  yet,  for  sure  ; 
and  de  world's  a  big  place.  When  de  Lord  corue  his- 
self,  to  look  for  'em,  spect  he  have  to  look  mighty 
hard.  De  world's  awful  dark.' 

That  brought  to  my  mind  my  question.  It  was  odd, 
no  doubt,  to  choose  an  old  coloured  woman  for  my  ad 
viser  ;  but  indeed  I  had  not  much  choice ;  and  some 
thing  had  given  me  a  confidence  in  Maria's  practical 
wisdom,  which  early  as  it  had  been  formed,  nothing 
ever  happened  to  shake.  So  after  considering  the  fire 
and  the  matter  a  moment,  I  brought  forth  my  doubt. 

'Maria,'  said  I,  'what  is  the  best  way  —  I  mean, 
how  can  one  let  one's  light  shine  ? ' 

'What  Miss  Daisy  talkin'  about?' 

'  I  mean,  —  you  know  what  the  Bible  says  —  "  Let 
your  light  so  shine  before  men,  that  they  may  see  your 
good  works  and  glorify  your  Father  which  is  in 
heaven  "  ? ' 

4  For  sure,  I  knows  dat.  Aint  much  shinin'  in  dese 
yere  parts.  De  people  is  dark,  Miss  Daisy  ;  dey  don7 
know.  'Spect  dey  would  try  to  shine,  some  on  em,  ef 
dey  knowed.  Feel  sure  dey  would.' 

4  But  that  is  what  I  wanted  to  ask  about,  Maria 
How  ought  one  to  let  one's  light  shine  ? ' 

I  remember  now  the  kind  of  surveying  look  the 
woman  gave  me.  I  do  not  know  what  she  was  think 
ing  of ;  but  she  looked  at  me,  up  and  down,  for  a  mo 
ment,  with  a  wonderfully  tender,  soft  expression. 
Then  turned  away. 

'  How  let  um  light  shine  ? '  she  repeated.  '  De 
bestest  way,  Miss  Daisy,  is  fur  to  make  him  burn 
good.' 

I  saw  it  all  immediately  ;  my  question  never  puzzled 


120  DAISY. 

me  again.  Take  care  that  the  lamp  is  trimmed  ;  take, 
care  that  it  is  full  of  oil ;  see  that  the  flame  mounts 
clear  and  steady  towards  heaven ;  and  the  Lord  will 
set  it  where  its  light  will  fall  on  what  pleases  him, 
and  where  it  will  reach  mayhap,  to  what  you  never 
dream  of. 


WINTER  AND   SUMMER.  121 


CHAPTER   VI. 

N     WINTER     AND      SUMMER. 

FROM  the  Christmas  holidaj^s,  I  think  I  began  slowly 
to  mend.  My  aunt  watched  me,  and  grumbled  that 
kitchen  amusements  and  rides  with  Darry  should  prove 
the  medicines  most  healing  and  effectual ;  but  she  dared 
stop  neither  of  them.  I  believe  the  overseer  remon 
strated  on  the  danger  of  the  night  gatherings  ;  but  my 
aunt  Gary  had  her  answer  ready,  and  warned  him  not 
to  do  anything  to  hinder  me,  for  I  was  the  apple  of 
my  father's  eye.  Miss  Pinshon,  sharing  to  the  full 
my  aunt's  discontent,  would  have  got  on  horseback,  I 
verily  believe,  to  be  with  me  in  my  rides  ;  but  she  was 
no  rider.  The  sound  of  a  horse's  four  feet  always,  she 
confessed,  stamped  the  courage  out  of  her  heart.  I 
was  let  alone  ;  and  the  Sunday  evenings  in  the  kitchen, 
and  the  bright  morning  hours  in  the  pine  avenues  and 
oak  groves,  were  my  refreshment  and  my  pleasure,  and 
my  strength. 

What  there  was  of  it ;  for  I  had  not  much  strength 
to  boast  for  many  a  day.  Miss  Pinshon  tried. her 
favorite  recipe  whenever  she  thought  she  saw  a  chance, 
and  I  did  my  best  with  it.  But  my  education  that 
winter  was  quite  in  another  line.  I  could  not  bear 
much  arithmetic.  Bending  over  a  desk  did  not  agree 
with  me.  Reading  aloud  to  Miss  Pinshon  never 
11 


122  DAISY. 

lasted  for  more  than  a  little  while  at  a  time.  So  it 
comes,  that  my  remembrance  of  that  winter  is  not 
filled  with  school  exercises,  and  that  Miss  Pinshon's 
figure  plays  but  a  subordinate  part  in  its  pictures. 
Instead  of  that,  my  memory  brings  back  first  and 
chiefest  of  all,  the  circle  of  dark  faces  round  the 
kitchen  light  wood  fire,  and  the  yellow  blaze  on  the 
page  from  which  I  read  ;  1  a  little  figure  in  white,  sit 
ting  in  the  midst  among  them  all.  That  picture  — 
those  evenings  —  come  back  to  me,  with  a  kind  of 
hallowed  perfume  of  truth  and  hope.  Truth,  it  was  in 
my  lips  and  on  my  heart ;  I  was  giving  it  out  to  those 
who  had  it  not.  And  hope,  —  it  was  in  more  hearts 
than  mine,  no  doubt ;  but  in  mine  it  beat  with  as 
steady  a  beat  as  the  tickings  of  my  little  watch  by  my 
side,  and  breathed  sweet  as  the  flowers  that  start  in 
spring  from  under  the  snow.  I  had  often  a  large  circle  ; 
and  it  was  part  of  my  plan  and  well  carried  into  execu 
tion,  that  these  evenings  of  reading  should  supply  also 
the  place  of  the  missing  prayermeeting.  Gradually  I 
drew  it  on  to  be  so  understood ;  and  then  my  pieces 
of  reading  were  scattered  along  between  the  prayers, 
or  sometimes  all  came  at  first,  followed  by  two  or  three 
earnest  longer  prayers  from  some  of  those  that  were 
present.  And  then,  without  any  planning  of  mine,  came 
in  Jhe  singing.  Not  too  much,  lest  as  Maria  said,  we 
should  '  make  de  folks  up  stairs  t'ink  dere  war  some- 
thin'  oncommon  in  de  kitchen  ; '  but  one  or  two  hymns 
we  would  have,  so  full  of  spirit  and  sweetness  that 
often  now-a-days  they  come  back  to  me,  and  I  would 
give  very  much  to  hear  the  like  again.  So  full  of 
music  too.  Voices  untrained  by  art,  but  gifted  by 
nature :  melodious  and  powerful ;  that  took  different 


WINTER  AND   SUMMER.  123 

parts  in  the  tune,  and  carried  them  through  without 
the  jar  of  a  false  note  or  a  false  quantity  ;  and  a  love 
both  of  song  and  of  the  truth  which  made  the  music 
mighty.  It  was  the  greatest  delight  to  me,  that  sing 
ing,  whether  I  joined  them  or  only  listened.  One,  — 
the  thought  of  it  comes  over  me  now  and  brings  the 
water  to  my  eyes,  — 

'  Am  I  a  soldier  of  the  crosa  — 

Of  the  cross  — 

Of  the  cross  — 
A  follower  of  the  Lamb ; 
And  shall  I  fear  to  own  his  cause, 

Own  his  cause  — 

Own  his  cause,  — 
Or  blush  to  speak  his  name?' 

The  repetitions  at  the  end  of  every  other  line  were 
both  plaintive  and  strong ;  there  was  no  weakness,  but 
some  recognition  of  what  it  costs  in  certain  circum 
stances  to  '  own  his  cause/  I  loved  that  dearly. 
But  that  was  only  one  of  many. 

Also  the  Bible  words  were  wonderful  sweet  to  me, 
as  I  was  giving  them  out  to  those  who  else  had  a 
'  famine  of  the  word.'  Bread  to  the  hungry,  is  quite 
another  thing  from  bread  on  the  tables  of  the  full. 

The  winter  had  worn  well  on,  before  I  received  the 
answer  to  the  letter  I  had  written  my  father  about  the 
prayermeetings  and  Mr.  Edwards.  It  was  a  short 
answer,  not  in  terms  but  in  actual  extent ;  shewing 
that  my  father  was  not  strong  and  well  yet.  It  was 
very  kind  and  tender,  as  well  as  short ;  I  felt  that  in 
every  word.  In  substance,  however,  it  told  me  I  had 
better  let  Mr.  Edwards  alone.  He  knew  what  he 
ought  to  do,  about  the  prayermeetings  and  about 


124  DAISY. 

other  things ;  and  they  were  what  I  could  not  judge 
about.  So  my  letter  said.  It  said  too,  that  things 
seemed  strange  to  me  because  I  was  unused  to  them ; 
and  that  when  I  had  lived  longer  at  the  South  they 
would  cease  to  be  strange  and  I  would  understand 
them  and  look  upon  them  as  every  one  else  did. 

I  studied  and  pondered  this  letter :  not  greatly  dis 
appointed,  for  I  had  had  but  slender  hopes  that  my 
petition  could  work  anything.  Yet  I  had  a  disappoint 
ment  to  get  over.  The  first  practical  use  I  made  of 
my  letter,  I  went  where  I  could  be  alone  with  it  —  in 
deed,  I  was  that  when  I  read  it,  —  but  I  went  to  a 
solitary  lonely  place,  where  I  could  not  be  interrupted  ; 
and  there  I  knelt  down  and  prayed,  that  however  long 
I  might  live  at  the  South,  I  might  never  get  to  look 
upon  evil  as  anything  but  evil,  nor  ever  become  accus 
tomed  to  the  things  I  thought  ought  not  to  be,  so  as 
not  to  feel  them.  I  shall  never  forget  that  half  hour. 
It  broke  my  heart  that  my  father  and  I  should  look  on 
such  matters  with  so  different  eyes ;  and  with  my 
prayer  for  myself,  which  came  from  the  very  bottom  of 
my  heart,  I  poured  out  also  a  flood  of  love  and  tears 
over  him,  and  of  petition  that  he  might  have  better 
eyesight  one  day.  Ah  yes !  and  before  it  should  be 
too  late  to  right  the  wrong  he  was  unconsciously  doing. 

For  now  I  began  to  see,  in  the  light  of  this  letter 
first,  that  my  father's  eyes  were  not  clear  but  blind  in 
regard  to  these  matters.  And  what  he  said  about  me 
led  me  to  think  and  believe  that  his  blindness  was  the 
effect,  not  of  any  particular  hardness  or  fault  in  him, 
but  of  long  teaching  and  habit  and  custom.  For  I  saw 
that  everybody  else  around  me  seemed  to  take  the 
present  condition  of  things  as  the  true  and  best  one ; 


WINTER   AND    SUMMER.  125 

Act  only  convenient,  but  natural  and  proper.  Every 
body,  that  is,  who  did  not  suffer  by  it.  I  had  more 
than  suspicions  that  the  seven  hundred  on  the  estate 
were  of  a  different  mind  here  from  the  half  dozen  who 
lived  in  the  mansion ;  and  that  the  same  relative  differ 
ence  existed  on  the  other  plantations  in  the  neighbour 
hood.  We  made  visits  occasionally,  and  the  visits 
were  returned.  I  was  not  shut  out  from  them,  and  so 
had  some  chance  to  observe  things  within  a  circle  of 
twenty  miles.  Our  '  neighbourhood '  reached  so  far. 
And  child  as  I  was,  I  could  not  help  seeing ;  and  I 
could  not  help  looking,  half  unconsciously,  for  signs 
of  what  lay  so  close  on  my  heart. 

My  father's  letter  thus  held  some  material  of  com 
fort  for  me,  although  it  refused  my  request.  Papa 
would  not  overset  the  overseer's  decision  about  the 
prayermeetings.  It  held  something  else.  There  was 
a  little  scrap  of  a  note  to  aunt  Gary,  saying,  in  the 
form  of  an  order,  that  Daisy  was  to  have  ten  dollars 
paid  to  her  every  quarter ;  that  Mrs.  Gary  would  see  it 
done  ;  and  would  further  see  that  Daisy  was  not  called 
upon,  by  anybody,  at  any  time,  to  give  any  account 
whatever  of  her  way  of  spending  the  same. 

How  I  thanked  papa  for  this !  How  I  knew  the 
tender  affection  and  knowledge  of  me  which  had 
prompted  it.  How  well  I  understood  what  it  was 
meant  to  do.  I  had  a  little  private  enjoyment  of  aunt 
Gary's  disconsolate  face  and  grudging  hands  as  she 
bestowed  upon  me  the  first  ten  dollars.  It  was  not 
that  she  loved  money  so  well,  but  she  thought  this  was 
another  form  of  my  father's  unwise  indulging  and 
spoiling  of  me  ;  and  that  I  was  spoiled  already.  But 
11* 


126  DAISY. 

I  —  I  saw  in  vision  a  large  harvest  of  joy,  to  be  raised 
from  this  small  seed  crop. 

At  first  I  thought  I  must  lay  out  a  few  shillings  of 
my  stock  upon  a  nice  purse  to  keep  the  whole  in.  I 
put  the  purse  down  at  the  head  of  the  list  of  things  I 
was  making  out,  for  purchase,  the  first  time  I  should 
go  to  Baytown  or  have  any  good  chance  of  sending.  I 
had  a  good  deal  of  consideration  whether  I  would  have 
a  purse  or  a  pocketbook.  Then  I  had  an  odd  secret 
pleasure  in  my  diplomatic  way  of  finding  out  from 
Darry  and  Maria  and  Margaret  what  were  the  wants 
most  pressing  of  the  sick  and  the  old  among  the 
people ;  or  of  the  industrious  and  the  enterprising. 
Getting  Darry  to  talk  to  me  in  my  rides,  by  degrees  I 
came  to  know  the  stories  and  characters  of  many  of 
the  hands  ;  I  picked  up  hints  of  a  want  or  a  desire 
here  and  there,  which  Darry  thought  there  was  no 
human  means  of  meeting,  or  gratifying.  Then,  the 
next  time  I  had  a  chance,  I  brought  up  these  persons 
and  cases  to  Maria,  and  supplemented  Barry's  hints 
with  her  information.  Or  I  attacked  Margaret  when 
she  was  making  my  fire,  and  drew  from  her  what  she 
knew  about  the  persons  in  whom  I  was  interested.  So 
I  learned  —  and  put  it  down  in  my  notebook  accord 
ingly —  that  Pete  could  spell  out  words  a  little  bit, 
and  would  like  mainly  to  read ;  if  only  he  had  a  Testa 
ment  in  large  t}*pe.  He  could  not  manage  little  print ; 
it  bothered  him.  Also  I  learned,  that  aunt  Sarah, 
a  middle-aged  woman  who  worked  in  the  fields, 
4  wanted  terrible  to  come  tode  Sabbas  meetin's,  but  she 
war  'shamed  to  come,  'cause  her  feet  was  mos'  half  out 
of  her  shoes ;  and  Mr.  Ed'ards  wouldn't  give  her  no 
more  till  de  time  come  roun'.  Sarah  had  been  and 


WIXTER    AXD    STMMER.  127 

gone  and  done  stuck  her  feet  in  de  fire,  for  to  warm 
'em,  one  time  when  dey  was  mighty  cold ;  and  she 
burn  her  shoes.  Learn  her  better  next  time.' 

'  But  does  she  work  every  day  in  the  field  with  her 
feefc  only  half  covered?'  I  asked. 

i  Laws  3  she  don't  care,'  said  Maria.  *  'Taint  no  use 
give  dem  darkies  not'ing;  dey  not  know  how  to  keep 
um.' 

But  this  was  not  Maria's  real  opinion,  I  knew. 
There  was  often  a  strange  sort  of  seeming  hard  edge 
of  feeling  put  forth,  which  I  learned  to  know  pointed  a 
deep,  deep,  maybe  only  half  conscious  irony,  and 
was  in  reality  a  bitter  comment  upon  facts.  So  a  pair 
of  new  shoes  for  Sarah  went  down  in  my  list  with  a 
large  print  Testament  for  Pete.  Then  I  found  that, 
some  of  the  people,  some  of  the  old  ones,  who  in  youth 
had  been  accustomed  to  it,  liked  nothing  so  well  as 
tea ;  it  was  ambrosia  and  Lethe  mingled  ;  and  a  packet 
of  tea  was  put  in  my  list  next  to  the  Testament.  But 
the  tea  must  have  sugar ;  and  I  could  not  bear  that 
they  should  drink  it  out  of  mugs,  without  any  tea 
spoons  ;  so  to  please  myself  I  sent  for  a  little  delf 
ware  and  a  few  pewter  spoons.  Little  by  little  my  list 
grew.  I  found  that  Darry  knew  something  about 
letters  ;  could  write  a  bit ;  and  would  prize  the  means 
of  writing  as  a  very  rare  treasure  and  pleasure.  And 
with  fingers  that  almost  trembled  with  delight,  I  wrote 
clown  paper  and  pens  and  a  bottle  of  ink  for  Darry. 
Next,  I  heard  of  an  old  woman  at  the  quarters,  who 
was  ailing  and  infirm  and  I  am  afraid  ill-treated,  who 
at  all  events  was  in  need  of  comfort,  and  had  nothing 
but  straw  and  the  floor  to  rest  her  poor  bones  on  at 
night.  A  soft  pallet  for  her  went  down  instantly  on 


128  DAISY. 

my  list ;  my  ink  and  tears  mingling  together  as  I 
wrote  ;  and  I  soon  found  that  my  purse  must  be  cut  off 
from  the  head  of  my  list  for  that  time.  I  never  ven 
tured  to  put  it  at  the  head  again  ;  nor  found  a  chance 
to  put  it  in  any  where  else.  I  spent  four  winters  at 
Magnolia  after  that ;  and  never  had  a  new  purse  all 
the  time. 

I  had  to  wait  awhile  for  an  opportunity  to  make  my 
purchases ;  then  had  the  best  in  the  world,  for  Darry 
was  sent  to  Baytown  on  business.  To  him  I  confided 
my  list  and  my  money,  with  my  mind  on  the  matter ; 
and  I  was  served  to  a  point  and  with  absolute  secrecy. 
For  that  I  had  insisted  on.  Darry  and  Maria  were  in 
my  counsels,  of  course  ;  but  the  rest  of  the  poor  people 
knew  only  by  guess  who  their  friend  was.  Old  Sarah 
found  her  new  shoes  in  her  hut  one  evening,  and  in  her 
noisy  delight  declared  that  c  some  big  angel  had  come 
t'rough  de  quarters/  The  cups  and  saucers  it  was 
necessary  to  own,  lest  more  talk  should  have  been 
made  about  them  than  at  all  suited  me ;  Darry  let  it 
be  understood  that  nothing  must  be  said  and  nobody 
must  know  of  the  matter  ;  and  nobody  did  ;  but  I  took 
the  greatest  enjoyment  in  hearing  from  Maria  how  the 
old  women  (and  one  or  two  men)  gathered  together 
and  were  comforted  over  their  cups  of  tea.  And  over 
the  cwps,  Maria  said ;  the  cups  and  spoons  made  the 
tea  twice  as  good ;  but  I  doubt  their  relish  of  it  was 
never  half  so  exquisite  as  mine.  I  had  to  give  Pete 
his  Testament ;  he  would  not  think  it  the  same  thing 
if  he  did  not  have  it  from  ruy  own  hand,  Maria  said  ; 
and  Darry's  pens  and  ink  likewise.  The  poor  woman 
for  whom  I  had  got  the  bed,  was  I  fear  beyond  enjoy 
ing  anything ;  but  it  was  a  comfort  to  me  to  know  thai 


WINTER  AND   SUMMER.  129 

she  was  lying  on  it.  The  people  kept  my  secret 
perfectly ;  my  aunt  and  governess  never,  I  believe, 
heard  anything  of  all  these  doings ;  I  had  my  enjoy 
ment  to  myself. 

And  the  Sunday  evening  prayermeeting  grew.  Little 
by  little.  Old  Sarah  and  her  new  shoes  were  there  of 
course,  at  once.  Those  who  first  came  never  failed. 
And  week  by  week,  as  I  went  into  the  kitchen  with  my 
Bible,  I  saw  a  larger  circle ;  found  the  room  better 
lined  with  dark  forms  and  sable  faces.  They  come  up 
before  me  now  as  I  write,  one  and  another.  I  loved 
them  all.  I  love  them  still,  for  I  look  to  meet  many 
of  them  in  glory;  'where  there  is  neither  bond  nor 
free.'  Nay,  that  is  here  and  at  present,  to  all  who  are 
in  Christ ;  we  do  not  wait  for  heaven,  to  be  all  one. 

And  they  loved  me,  those  poor  people.  I  think 
Pete  had  something  the  same  sort  of  notion  about  me 
that  those  Ephesians  had  of  their  image  of  Diana, 
which  they  insisted  had  fallen  from  heaven.  I  used  to 
feel  it  then,  and  be  amused  by  it. 

But  I  am  too  long  about  my  story.  Nc  wonder  I 
linger,  when  the  remembrance  is  so  sweet.  With  this 
new  interest  that  had  come  into  my  life,  my  whole  life 
brightened.  I  was  no  longer  spiritless.  My  strength 
little  by  little  returned.  And  with  the  relief  of  my 
heart  about  my  father,  my  happiness  sprung  back 
almost  to  its  former  and  usual  state  when  I  was  at 
Melbourne.  For  I  had  by  this  time  submitted  to  my 
father's  and  mother's  absence  as  a  thing  of  necessity, 
and  submitted  entirety.  Yet  my  happiness  was  a 
subdued  sort  of  thing ;  and  my  aunt  Gary  still  thought 
it  necessary  to  be  as  careful  of  me,  she  said,  '  as  if  I 
were  an  egg  shell.'  As  I  grew  stronger,  Miss  Finshon 


130  DAISY. 

made  more  and  more  demands  upon  my  time  with  her 
arithmetic  lessons,  and  other  things ;  but  my  rides 
with  Darry  were  never  interfered  with,  nor  my  Sunday 
evening  readings ;  and  indeed  all  the  winter  I  con 
tinued  too  delicate  and  feeble  for  much  school  work. 
My  dreaded  governess  did  not  have  near  so  much  to  do 
with  me  as  I  thought  she  would. 

The  spring  was  not  far  advanced  before  it  was  neces 
sary  for  us  to  quit  Magnolia.  The  climate  after  a 
certain  day,  or  rather  the  air,  was  not  thought  safe  for 
white  people.  We  left  Magnolia;  and  went  first  to 
Bay  town  and  then  to  the  North.  There  our  time  was 
spent  between  one  and  another  of  several  watering 
places.  I  longed  for  Melbourne ;  but  the  house  was 
shut  up  ;  we  could  not  go  there.  The  summer  was 
very  wearisome  to  me.  I  did  not  like  the  houses  in 
which  our  time  was  spent,  or  the  way  of  life  led  in 
them.  Neither  did  Miss  Pinshon,  I  think ;  for  she 
was  out  of  her  element,  and  had  no  chance  to  fol 
low  her  peculiar  vocation.  Of  course,  in  a  public 
hotel,  we  could  not  have  a  schoolroom ;  and  with  the 
coming  on  of  warm  weather  my  strength  failed  again, 
so  sensibly,  that  all  there  was  to  do  was  to  give  me 
sea  air  and  bathing,  and  let  me  alone.  The  bathing  I 
enjoyed ;  those  curling  salt  waves  breaking  over  my 
head,  are  the  one  image  of  anything  fresh  or  refreshing 
which  my  memory  has  kept.  I  should  have  liked  the 
beach  ;  I  did  like  it ;  only  it  was  covered  with  bathers, 
or  else  with  promenaders  in  carriages  and  on  foot,  at  all 
times  when  I  saw  it ;  and  though  they  were  amusing, 
the  beach  was  spoiled.  The  hotel  rooms  were  close 
and  hot ;  I  missed  all  the  dainty  freedom  and  purity  of 
my  own  home  ;  the  people  I  saw  were,  it  seemed  to  me, 


WINTER  AND   SUMMER.  131 

entirely  in  keeping  with  the  rooms  ;  that  is,  they  were 
stiff  and  fussy,  not  quiet  and  busy,  They  were  busy 
after  their  own  fashion  indeed ;  but  it  always  seemed 
to  me,  busy  about  nothing.  The  children  I  saw,  too, 
did  not  attract  me  ;  and  I  fear  I  did  not  attract  them. 
I  was  sober-hearted  and  low-toned  in  spirits  and 
strength  ;  while  they  were  as  gay  as  their  elders.  And 
I  was  dressed  according  to  my  mother's  fancy,  in 
childlike  style,  without  hoops,  and  with  my  hair  cropped 
short  all  over  my  head.  They  were  stately  with  crino 
line,  and  rich  with  embroidery,  stiff  with  fine  dresses 
and  plumes  ;  while  a  white  frock  and  a  flat  straw  were 
all  my  adornment,  except  a  sash.  I  think  they  did  not 
know  what  to  make  of  me  ;  and  I  am  sure  I  had  noth 
ing  in  common  with  them ;  so  we  lived  very  much 
apart.  There  was  a  little  variation  in  my  way  of  life 
when  Preston  came ;  yet  not  much.  He  took  me 
sometimes  to  drive,  and  did  once  go  walking  with  me 
on  the  beach  ;  but  Preston  found  a  great  deal  where  I 
found  nothing,  and  was  all  the  time  taken  up  with  peo 
ple  and  pleasures  ;  boating  and  yachting  and  fishing  ex 
peditions  ;  and  I  believe  with  hops  and  balls  too.  But  I 
was  always  fast  asleep  at  those  times. 

It  was  a  relief  to  me  when  the  season  came  to  an  end, 
and  we  went  to  New  York  to  make  purchases  before 
turning  southward.  I  had  once  hoped,  that  this  time, 
the  year's  end,  might  see  my  father  and  mother  come 
home  again.  That  hope  had  faded  and  died  a 
natural  death  a  long  while  ago.  Letters  spoke  my  fa 
ther's  health  not  restored ;  he  was  languid  and  spirit 
less  and  lacked  vigour ;  he  would  trjT  the  air  of  Switz 
erland  ;  he  would  spend  the  winter  in  the  Pyrenees ! 
If  that  did  not  work  well,  my  mother  hinted,  perhaps 


132  DAISY. 

he  would  have  to  try  the  effect  of  a  long  sea  voyage. 
Hope  shrunk  into  such  small  dimensions  that  it  filled 
but  a  very  little  corner  of  my  heart.  Indeed  for  the 
present  I  quite  put  it  by  and  did  not  look  at  it.  One 
winter  more  must  pass,  at  any  rate,  and  maybe  a  full 
year,  before  I  could  possibly  see  my  father  and  mother 
at  home.  I  locked  the  door  for  the  present  upon  hope  ; 
and  turned  my  thoughts  to  what  things  I  had  left  with 
me.  Chiefest  of  all  these,  were  my  poor  friends  at 
Magnolia.  My  money  had  accumulated  during  the  sum 
mer  ;  I  had  a  nice  little  sum  to  lay  out  for  them,  and  in 
New  York  I  had  chance  to  do  it  well,  and  to  do  it  my 
self ;  which  was  a  great  additional  pleasure.  As  I 
could,  bit  by  bit,  when  I  was  with  aunt  Gary  shop 
ping,  when  I  could  get  leave  to  go  out  alone  with  a 
careful  servant  to  attend  me,  I  searched  the  shops  and 
catered  and  bought,  for  the  comfort  and  pleasure  of  — 
seven  hundred !  I  could  do  little.  Nay,  but  it  was 
for  so  many  of  those  as  I  could  reach  with  my  weak 
hands  ;  and  I  did  not  despise  that  good  because  I  could 
not  reach  them  all.  A  few  more  large  print  Testaments 
I  laid  in  ;  some  copies  of  the  Gospel  of  John,  in  soft 
covers  and  good  type  ;  a  few  hymn  books.  All  these 
cost  little.  But  for  Christmas  gifts,  and  for  new  things 
to  give  help  and  comfort  to  my  poor  pensioners,  I  both 
plagued  and  bewitched  my  brain.  It  was  sweet  work. 
My  heart  went  out  towards  making  all  the  people  happy 
for  once,  at  Christmas  ;  but  my  purse  would  not  stretch 
so  far  ;  I  had  to  let  that  go,  with  a  thought  and  a  sigh. 
One  new  thing  came  very  happily  into  my  head,  and 
was  worth  a  Peruvian  mine  to  me,  in  the  pleasure  and 
business  it  gave.  Going  into  a  large  greenhouse  with 
my  aunt,  who  wanted  to  order  a  bouquet,  I  went  wan- 


WINTER    AND    SUMMER.  133 

dering  round  the  place  while  she  made  her  bargain. 
For  my  aunt  Gary  made  a  bargain  of  everything. 
Wandering  in  thought  as  well,  whither  the  sweet  breath 
of  the  roses  and  geraniums  led  me,  I  went  back  to  Mol 
ly  in  her  cottage  at  Melbourne,  and  the  Jewess  gerani 
um  I  had  carried  her,  and  the  rose  tree  ;  and  suddenly 
the  thought  started  into  my  head,  might  not  my  dark 
friends  at  Magnolia,  so  quick  to  see  and  enjoy  anything 
of  beauty  that  came  in  their  way  —  so  fond  of  bright 
colour  and  grace  and  elegance  —  a  luxurious  race,  even 
in  their  downtrodden  condition ;  might  not  they  also 
feel  the  sweetness  of  a  rose,  or  delight  in  the  petals  of 
a  tulip  ?  It  was  a  great  idea ;  it  grew  into  a  full 
formed  purpose  before  I  was  called  to  follow  aunt  Gary 
out  of  the  greenhouse.  The  next  day  I  went  there  on 
my  own  account.  I  was  sure  I  knew  what  I  wanted  to 
do ;  but  I  studied  a  long  time  the  best  way  of  doing 
it.  Roses?  I  could  hardly  transport  pots  and  trees 
so  far ;  they  were  too  cumbersome.  Geraniums  were 
open  to  the  same  objection,  besides  being  a  little 
tender  as  to  the  cold.  Flower  seeds  could  not  be  sown, 
if  the  people  had  them ;  for  no  patch  of  garden  be 
longed  to  their  stone  huts,  and  they  had  no  time  to 
cultivate  such  a  patch  if  they  had  it.  I  must  give  what 
would  call  for  no  care,  to  speak  of,  and  make  no 
demands  upon  overtasked  strength  and  time.  Neither 
could  I  afford  to  take  anything  of  such  bulk  as  would 
draw  attention  or  call  out  questions  and  comments.  I 
knew,  as  well  as  I  know  now,  what  would  be  thought  of 
any  plan  or  action  which  supposed  a  love  of  the  beauti 
ful  in  ci-eatures  the  only  earthly  use  of  whom  was  to 
raise  rice  and  cotton  ;  who  in  fact  were  not  half  so  im 
portant  as  the  harvests  they  grew.  I  knew  what  un- 
12 


134  DAISY. 

bounded  scorn  would  visit  any  attempts  of  mine  to  minis 
ter  to  an  aesthetic  taste  in  these  creatures  ;  and  I  was  in 
no  mind  to  call  it  out  upon  myself.  All  the  while  I  knew 
better.  I  knew  that  Margaret  and  Stephanie  could  put 
on  a  turban  like  no  white  woman  I  ever  saw.  I  knew 
that  even  Marie  could  take  the  full  effect  of  my  dress 
when  I  was  decked  —  as  I  was  sometimes  —  for  a  din 
ner  party  ;  and  that  no  fall  of  lace  or  knot  of  ribband 
missed  its  errand  to  her  eye.  I  knew  that  a  picture 
raised  the  liveliest  interest  in  all  my  circle  of  Sunday 
hearers ;  and  that  they  were  quick  to  understand  and 
keen  to  take  its  bearings,  far  more  then  Molly  Skifton 
would  have  been,  more  than  Logan  our  Scotch  gardener 
at  Melbourne,  or  than  my  little  old  friend  Hephzibah 
and  her  mother.  But  the  question  stood,  in  what  form 
could  I  carry  beauty  to  them  out  of  a  florist's  shop  ?  I 
was  fain  to  take  the  florist  into  my  partial  confidence. 
It  was  well  that  I  did.  He  at  once  suggested  bulbs. 
Bulbs!  would  they  require  much  care?  Hardly  any; 
no  trouble  at  all.  They  could  be  easily  transported  ; 
easily  kept.  All  they  wanted,  was  a  little  pot  of  earth 
when  I  was  ready  to  plant  them  ;  a  little  judicious  water 
ing  ;  an  unbounded  supply  of  sunshine.  And  what  sorts 
of  bulbs  were  there  ?  I  asked  diplomatically  ;  not  my 
self  knowing,  to  tell  truth,  what  bulbs  were  at  all.  Plenty 
of  sorts,  the  florist  said  ;  there  were  hyacinths  —  all  col 
ours  —  and  tulips,'  striped  and  plain,  and  very  gay  ;  and 
crocuses,  those  were  of  nearly  all  colours  too  ;  and  ranun 
culus,  and  anemones,  and  snowdrops.  Snowdrops  were 
white ;  but  of  several  of  the  other  kinds  I  could  have 
every  tint  in  the  rainbow,  both  alone  and  miy.ed.  The 
florist  stood  waiting  my  pleasure,  and  nippeJ  off  a 
dead  leaf  or  two  as  he  spoke,  as  if  there  was  no  hurry 


WINTER   AND    SUMMER.  135 

and  I  could  take  mv  time.  I  went  into  happy  calcula 
tion,  as  to  how  far  my  funds  would  reach ;  gave  my 
orders,  very  .slowly  and  very  carefully  ;  and  went  away 
the  owner  of  a  nice  little  stock  of  tulips,  narcissus,  cro 
cuses,  and  above  all,  hyacinths.  I  chose  gay  tints,  and 
at  the  same  time  inexpensive  kinds  ;  so  that  my  stock 
was  quite  large  enough  for  my  purposes  ;  it  mattered 
nothing  to  me  whether  a  sweet  double  hyacinth  was  of 
a  new  or  an  old  kind,  provided  it  was  of  first-rate  quali 
ty  ;  and  I  confess  it  matters  almost  as  little  to  me 
now.  At  an}?-  rate,  I  went  home  a  satisfied  child  ;  and 
figuratively  speaking,  dined  and  supped  off  tulips  and 
hyacinths,  instead  of  mutton  and  bread  and  butter. 

That  afternoon  it  fell  out  that  my  aunt  took  me  with 
her  to  a  milliner's  on  some  business.  In  the  course  of 
it,  some  talk  arose  about  feathers  and  the  value  of  them  ; 
and  my  aunt  made  a  remark  which,  like  Wat  Tyrrell' s 
arrow,  glanced  from  its  aim  and  did  execution  in  a  quar 
ter  undreamed  of. 

'  That  feather  you  put  in  the  little  riding  cap  you 
sent  me/  she  said  to  the  milliner,  — '  your  black 
feather,  Daisy,  you  know,  —  you  charged  me  but  fif 
teen  dollars  for  that ;  why  is  this  so  much  more?' 

I  did  not  hear  the  milliner's  answer.  My  whole 
thought  went  off  upon  a  track  entirely  new  to  me,  and 
never  entered  before.  My  feather  cost  fifteen  dollars  ! 
Fifteen  dollars !  Supposing  I  had  that  to  buy  tulips 
with?  or  in  case  I  had  already  tulips  enough,  suppose 
I  had  it  to  buy  print  gowns  for  Christmas  presents  to 
the  women,  which  I  had  desired  and  could  not  afford? 
Or  that  I  had  it  to  lay  out  in  tea  and  sugar,  that  my 
poor  old  friends  might  oftener  have  the  one  solace  that 
was  left  to  them,  or  that  more  might  share  it?  Fifteen 


136  DAISY. 

dollars  !  It  was  equal  to  one  quarter  and  a  half's  al 
lowance.  My  fund  for  more  than  a  third  of  the  yeai 
would  be  doubled,  if  I  could  turn  that  black  feather 
into  silver  or  gold  again.  And  the  feather  was  of  no 
particular  use,  that  I  could  see.  It  made  me  look  like 
the  heiress  of  Magnolia,  my  aunt  said ;  but  neither 
could  I  see  any  use  in  that.  Everybody  knew,  that  is, 
all  the  servants  and  friends  of  the  family  knew,  that  I 
was  that  heiress ;  I  needed  no  black  feather  to  pro 
claim  it.  And  now  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  my  riding 
cap  was  heavy  with  undeveloped  bulbs,  uncrystallized 
sugar,  unweighed  green  tea.  No  transformation  of 
the  feather  was  possible  ;  it  must  wave  over  my  brow 
in  its  old  fashion,  whether  it  were  a  misguided  feather 
or  not ;  but  my  thoughts,  once  set  a  going  in  this 
train,  found  a  great  deal  to  do.  Truth  to  tell,  they 
have  not  done  it  all  yet. 

'  Aunt  Ga^/  I  said  that  same  evening,  musing  over 
the  things  in  my  boxes,  —  '  does  lace  cost  much  ? ' 

4  That  is  like  the  countryman  who  asked  me  once,  if 
it  took  long  to  play  a  piece  of  music !  Daisy,  don't 
you  know  any  more  about  lace  than  to  ask  such  a 
question  ? ' 

4 1  don't  know  what  it  costs,  aunt  Gary.  I  never 
bought  any.' 

'  Bought !  No  ;  hardly.  You  are  hardly  at  the  age 
to  buy  lace  yet.  But  you  have  worn  a  good  deal  of 
it.' 

4 1  cannot  tell  what  it  costs  by  looking  at  it,'  I  an 
swered. 

'  Well,  I  can.  And  you  will,  one  day,  I  hope  ;  if 
you  ever  do  anything  like  other  people.' 

'  Is  it  costly,  ma'am  ? ' 


WINTER   AND    SUMMER.  137 

*  Your  lace  is  rather  costly/  my  aunt  said,  with  a 
tone  which  I  felt  implied  satisfaction. 

'-How  much?'  I  asked. 

*  How  much  does  it  cost  ?     Why  it  is  the  country 
man's  question  over  again,  Daisy.     Lace  is  all  sorts 
of  prices.     But  the  lace  you  wear,  is,  I  judge,  some 
where  about  three  and  five,  and  one  of  your  dresses, 
ten,  dollars  a  yard.     That  is*  pretty  rich  lace  for  a 
young  lady  of  your  years  to  wear.' 

I  never  wore  it,  I  must  explain,  unless  in  small 
quantity,  except  on  state  occasions  when  my  mother 
dressed  me  as  a  part  of  herself. 

'  No,  I  am  wrong/  my  aunt  added  presently  ;  '  that 
dress  I  am  thinking  of  is  richer  than  that ;  the  lace  on 
that  robe  was  never  bought  for  ten  dollars,  or  fifteen 
either.  What  do  you  want  to  know  about  it  for, 
Daisy  ? ' 

I  mused  a  great  deal.  Three  and  five,  and  ten,  and 
fifteen  dollars  a  yard,  on  lace  trimmings  for  me,  —  and 
no  tea,  no  cups  and  saucers,  no  soft  bed,  no  gardens  and 
flowers,  for  many,  who  were  near  me.  I  began  to  fill 
the  meshes  of  my  lace  with  responsibilities  too  heavy 
for  the  delicate  fabric  to  bear.  Nobody  liked  the 
looks  of  it  better  than  I  did.  I  always  had  a  fancy 
for  lace,  though  not  for  feathers  ;  its  rich,  delicate, 
soft  falls,  to  my  notion,  suited  my  mother's  form  and 
style  better  than  anything  else,  and  suited  me.  My 
taste  found  no  fault.  But  now  that  so  much  gold  was 
wrought  into  its  slight  web,  and  so  much  silver  lay 
hidden  in  every  embroidered  flower,  the  thing  was 
chai?ged.  Graceful,  and  becoming,  and  elegant,  more 
than  any  other  adornment ;  what  then  ?  My  mother 
and  father  had  a  great  deal  of  money  too,  to  spare ; 
12* 


138  DAISY. 

enough,  I  thought,  for  lace  and  for  the  above  tea  ajid 
sugar  too  ;  what  then  ?  And  what  if  not  enough  ?  I 
pondered,  till  my  aunt  Gary  broke  out  upon  me,  that  I 
would  grow  a  wizened  old  woman  if  I  sat  musing  at 
that  rate ;  and  sent  me  to  bed.  It  stopped  my  pon 
dering  for  that  night ;  but  not  for  all  the  years  since 
that  night. 

My  preparations  were  quite  made  before  my  aunt 
got  her  feathers  adjusted  to  her  satisfaction ;  and  in 
the  bright  days  of  autumn  we  went  back  again  to  Mag 
nolia.  This  was  a  joyful  journey  and  a  glad  arriving, 
compared  to  last  year ;  and  the  welcome  I  got  was 
something  which  puzzled '  my  heart  between  joy  and 
sorrow  many  times  during  the  first  few  days. 

And  now  Miss  Pinshon's  reign  fairly  began.  I  was 
stronger  in  health,  accustomed  to  n^  circumstances ; 
there  was  no  longer  any  reason  that  the  multiplication 
table  and  I  should  be  parted.  My  governess  was  de 
termined  to  make  up  for  lost  time ;  and  the  days  of 
that  winter  were  spent  by  me  between  the  study  table 
and  fire.  That  is,  when  I  think  of  that  winter  my 
memory  finds  me  there.  Multiplication  and  its  cor 
relatives  were  the  staple  of  existence  ;  and  the  old  book 
room  of  my  grandfather  was  the  place  where  my 
harvests  of  learning  were  sown  and  reaped. 

Somehow,  I  do  not  think  the  crops  were  heavy  I 
tried  my  best ;  and  Miss  Pinshon  certainly  tried  her 
best.  I  went  through  and  over  immense  fields  of  fig 
ures  ;  but  I  fancy  the  soil  did  not  suit  the  growth  I 
know  the  fruits  were  not  satisfactory  to  myself,  and 
indeed  were  not  fruits  at  all,  to  my  sense  of  them  ;  but 
rather  dry  husks  and  hard  nut  shells,  with  the  most 
tasteless  of  small  kernels  inside.  Yet  Miss  Pinsbon 


WINTER    AND    SUMMER.  139 

did  not  seem  unsatisfied  ;  and  indeed  occasionally  re 
marked  that  she  believed  I  meant  to  be  a  good 
child.  Perhaps  that  was  something  out  of  my  govern 
ess's  former  experience ;  for  it  was  the  only  style  of 
commendation  I  ever  knew  her  indulge  in,  and  I  al- 
wa}^s  took  it  as  a  compliment. 

It  would  not  do  to  tell  all  my  childish  life  that 
winter.  I  should  never  get  through.  For  a  child  has 
as  many  experiences  in  her  little  world  as  people  of 
fifty  years  old  have  in  theirs  ;  and  to  her  the}7  are  not 
little  experiences.  It  was  not  a  small  trial  of  mind 
and  body  to  spend  the  long  mornings  in  the  study  over 
the  curious  matters  Miss  Pinshon  found  for  my  atten 
tion  ;  and  after  the  long  morning  the  shorter  afternoon 
session  was  unmixed  weariness.  Yet  I  suffered  most 
in  the  morning  ;  because  then  there  was  some  life  and 
energy  within  me  which  rebelled  against  confinement, 
and  panted  to  be  free  and  in  the  open  air  looking  after 
the  very  different  work  I  could  find  or  make  for  my 
self.  My  feet  longed  for  the  turf;  my  fingers  wanted 
to  throw  down  the  slate  pencil  and  gather  up  the  reins. 
I  had  a  good  fire  and  a  pleasant  room ;  but  I  wanted 
to  be  abroad  in  the  open  sunshine,  to  feel  the  sweet 
breath  of  the  air  in  my  face,  and  see  the  grey  moss 
wrave  in  the  wind.  Ttiat  was  what  I  had  been  used  to 
all  my  life ;  a  -sweet  wild  roaming  about,  to  pick  up 
whatever  pleasure  presented  itself.  I  suppose  Miss 
Pinshori  herself  had  never  been  used  to  it  nor  known 
it ;  for  she  did  not  seem  to  guess  at  what  was  in  my 
mind.  But  it  made  my  mornings  harrl  to  get  through. 
By  the  afternoon  the  spirit  was  so  utterly  gone  out  of 
me  and  of  everything,  that  I  took  it  all  in  a  mechanical 


iiO  DAISY. 

stupid  way  ;    and  only  my  back's  aching  made  me  im 
patient  for  the  time  to  end. 

I  think  I  was  fond  of  knowledge  and  fond  of  learn 
ing.  I  am  sure  of  it,  for  I  love  it  dearly  still.  But 
there  was  no  joy  about  it  at  Magnolia.  History,  as  I 
found  it  with  my  governess,  was  not  in  the  least  like 
the  history  I  had  planned  on  my  tray  of  sand  and 
pointed  out  with  red  and  black  headed  pins.  There 
was  life  and  stir  in  that,  and  progress.  Now  there 
was  nothing  but  a  string  of  names  and  dates  to  say  to 
Miss  Pinshon.  And  dates  were  hard  to  remember, 
and  did  not  seem  to  mean  anything.  But  Miss  Pin- 
shon's  favourite  idea  was  mathematics.  It  was  not  my 
favourite  idea ;  so  every  day  I  wandered  through  a 
wilderness  of  figures  and  signs  which  were  a  weariness 
to  my  mind  and  furnished  no  food  for  it.  Nothing 
was  pleasant  to  me  in  my  schoolroom,  excepting  my 
writing  lessons.  They  were  welcomed  as  a  relief  from 
other  things. 

When  the  studies  for  the  day  were  done,  the  next 
thing  was  to  prepare  for  a  walk.  A  walk  with  Miss 
Pinshon  alone,  for  my  aunt  never  joined  us.  Indeed, 
this  winter  my  aunt  was  not  infrequently  away  from 
Magnolia  altogether  ;  finding  Bay  town  more  diverting. 
It  made  a  little  difference  to  me ;  for  when  she  was 
not  at  home,  the  whole  day,  morning,  afternoon  and 
evening,  meal  times  and  all  times,  seemed  under  a 
leaden  grey  sky.  Miss  Pinshon  discussed  natural 
history  to  me  when  we  were  walking  —  not  the  thing 
but  the  science  ;  she  asked  me  questions  in  geography 
when  we  were  eating  breakfast,  and  talked  over  some 
puzzle  in  arithmetic  when  we  were  at  dinner.  I  think 
it  was  refreshing  to  her  ;  she  liked  it ;  but  to  me,  the 


WINTER   AND   SUMMER.  141 

sky  closed  over  me  in  lead  colour,  one  unbroken  vault, 
as  I  said,  when  my  aunt  was  away.  With  her  at  home, 
all  this  could  not  be  ;  and  any  changes  of  colour  were 
refreshing. 

All  this  was  not  very  good  for  me.  My  rides  with 
Darry  would  have  been  a  great  help  ;  but  now  I  only 
got  a  chance  at  them  now  and  then.  I  grew  spiritless 
and  weary.  Sundays  I  would  have  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  stay  at  home  all  day  and  rest ;  but  I  knew 
if  I  pleaded  fatigue  my  evenings  with  the  people  in 
the  kitchen  would  be  immediately  cut  off;  not  my 
drives  to  church.  Miss  Pinshon  always  drove  the  six 
miles  to  Bolingbroke  every  Sunday  morning  and  took 
me  with  her.  Oh  how  long  the  miles  were  !  how  weary 
I  was,  with  my  back  aching,  and  trying  to  find  a  com 
fortable  corner  in  the  carriage ;  how  I  wanted  to  lie 
down  on  the  soft  cushions  in  the  pew  and  go  to  sleep 
during  the  service.  And  when  the  miles  home  were 
finished,  it  seemed  to  me  that  so  was  I.  Then  1  used 
to  pray  to  have  strength  in  the  evening  to  read  with 
the  people.  And  I  always  had  it ;  or  at  least  I  always 
did  it.  I  never  failed  ;  though  the  rest  of  the  Sunday 
hours  were  often  spent  on  the  bed.  But  indeed,  that 
Sunday  evening  reading  was  the  one  thing  that  saved 
my  life  from  growing,  or  settling,  into  a  petrifaction. 
Those  hours  gave  me  cheer,  and  some  spirit  to  begin 
again  on  Monday  morning. 

However,  I  was  not  thriving.  I  know  I  was  losing 
colour,  and  sinking  in  strength,  day  by  day  ;  yet  very 
gradually ;  so  that  my  governess  never  noticed  it. 
My  aunt  sometimes  on  her  return  from  an  absence  that 
had  been  longer  than  common,  looked  at  me  uneasily 


142  DAISY. 

'  Miss  Pinshon,  what  ails  that  child  ? '  she  would 
ask. 

My  governess  said,  '  nothing.'  Miss  Pinshon  was 
the  most  immovable  person,  I  think,  I  have  ever 
known.  At  least,  so  far  as  one  could  judge  from  the 
outside. 

4  She  looks  to  me/  my  aunt  went  on,  '  exactly  like  a 
cabbage,  or  something  else,  that  has  been  blanched 
under  a  barrel.  A  kind  of  unhealthy  colour.  She  is 
not  strong.' 

4  She  has  more  strength  than  she  shews.'  my  gov 
erness  answered.  '  Daisy  has  a  good  deal  of  strength.' 

i  Do  you  think  so?  '  said  my  aunt  looking  doubtfully 
at  me.  But  she  was  comforted.  And  neither  of  them 
asked  me  about  it. 

One  thing  in  the  early  half  of  the  winter  was  a  great 
help ;  and  for  awhile  stayed  my  flitting  spirits  and 
strength.  My  father  wrote  an  order,  that  Daisy 
should  make  arrangements  for  giving  all  the  people  on 
the  plantation  a  great  entertainment  at  Christmas.  I 
was  to  do  what  I  liked  and  have  whatever  I  chose  to 
desire ;  no  one  altering  or  interfering  with  my  word. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  overflowing  of  largest  joy,  with 
which  my  heart  swelled  as  I  ran  in  to  tell  this  news  to 
aunt  Gary.  But  first  I  had  to  kneel  down  and  give 
thanks  for  it. 

I  never  saw  my  aunt  more  displeased  about  any 
thing.  Miss  Pinshon  only  lifted  up  her  black  eyes 
and  looked  me  over.  They  did  not  express  curiosity 
or  anything  else ;  only  observation.  My  aunt  spoke 
out. 

4 1  think  there  must  be  some  mistake,  Daisy.' 

4  No,  aunt  Gary  ;  papa  says  just  that.' 


WINTER   AND   SUMMER.  143 

4  You  mean  the  house  servants,  child/ 

*  No  ma'am  ;  papa  says  everyone  ;  all  the  people  on 
the  place/ 

4  He  means  the  white  people,  you  foolish  child ; 
everybody's  head  is  not  full  of  the  servants,  as  yours 
is/ 

4  He  says,  the  coloured  people,  aunt  Gary ;  all  of 
them.  It  is  only  the  coloured  people/ 

4  Hear  her  ! '  said  my  aunt.  4  Now  she  would  rather 
entertain  them,  I  don't  doubt,  than  the  best  company 
that  could  be  gathered  of  her  own  sort/ 

I  certainly  would.  Did  I  not  think  with  joy  at  that 
very  minute  of  the  words,  '  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done 
it  unto  the  least  of  these,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me  '  ?  I 
knew  what  Guest  would  be  among  my  poor  despised 
company.  But  I  said  not  a  word. 

4  Daisy,'  said  my  aunt,  4  you  must  be  under  a  mis 
take  ;  you  must  let  me  see  what  your  father  says. 
Why,  to  give  all  these  hundreds  an  entertainment,  it 
would  cost  —  have  you  any  idea  what  it  would  cost  ?  ' 

I  had  not  indeed.  But  my  father's  letter  had  men 
tioned  a  sum  which  was  to  be  the  limit  of  my  expendi 
ture  ;  within  which  I  was  to  be  unlimited.  It  was  a 
large  sum,  amounting  to  several  hundreds,  and  amply 
sufficient  for  all  I  could  wish  to  do.  I  told  my  aunt. 

4  Well ! '  she  said,  twisting  herself  round  to  the  fire, 
4  if  your  father  has  money  to  fling  about  like  that,  I 
have  of  course  no  more  to  say/ 

Miss  Pmshon  looked  up  again  at  me.  Those  black 
eyes  were  alwajTs  the  same  ;  the  eyelids  never  drooped 
over  them.  4  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Daisy  ?  '  she 
asked. 

Truly  I  did  not  know  yet.     I  gave  my  aunt  a  note 


144  DAISY. 

to  the  overseer  from  my  father,  which  I  begged  her  to 
forward ;  and  ran  away  to  take  sweet  counsel  with 
myself. 

I  had  had  some  little  experience  of  such  an  entertain 
ment  in  the  strawberry  festival  at  Melbourne.  I 
remembered  that  good  things  to  eat  and  drink  were 
sure  to  be  enjoyed,  and  not  these  only,  but  also  a 
pretty  and  festive  air  thrown  about  these  things.  And 
much  more  would  this  be  true  among  the  beauty-loving 
and  luxurious-natured  children  of  the  tropics,  than 
with  the  comparatively  barbarous  Celtic  blood.  But 
between  entertaining  thirty  and  seven 'hundred,  there 
was  a  difference.  And  between  the  season  of  roses 
and  fruits,  and  the  time  of  mid-winter,  even  though  in 
a  southern  clime,  there  was  another  wide  difference. 
I  had  need  of  a  great  deal  of  counsel-taking  with  my 
self  ;  and  I  took  it ;  and  it  was  very  good  for  me.  In 
every  interval  between  mathematical  or  arithmetical 
problems,  my  mind  ran  off  to  this  other  one,  with  in 
finite  refreshment. 

Then  I  consulted  Maria ;  she  was  a  great  help  to  me. 
I  thought  at  first  I  should  have  to  build  a  place  to  hold 
our  gatherings  in  ;  the  home  kitchen  was  not  a  quarter 
large  enough.  But  Darry  told  me  of  an  empty  barn 
not  far  off,  that  was  roomy  and  clean.  By  virtue  of 
my  full  powers,  I  seized  upon  this  barn.  I  had  it  well 
warmed  with  stoves ;  Darry  saw  to  that  for  me  and 
that  they  were  well  and  safely  put  up  ;  I  had  it  adorned 
and  clothed  and  made  gay  with  evergreens  and  flowers, 
till  it  was  beautiful.  The  carpenters  on  the  place  put 
up  long  tables  and  fitted  plenty  of  seats.  Then  I  had 
some  rough  kitchens  extemporized  outside  of  it ;  and 
sent  for  loads  of  turkeys  from  Baytown  ;  and  for  days 


WINTER   AND   SUMMER.  145 

before  and  after  Christmas  my  band  of  cooks  were 
busy,  roasting  and  baking  and  cake-making.  Coffee 
was  brewed  without  measure,  as  if  we  had  been  a  na 
tion  of  Arabs.  And  then  tickets  were  furnished  to  all 
the  people  on  the  place,  tickets  of  admission  ;  and  for 
all  the  holidays,  or  for  Christmas  and  three  days  after, 
I  kept  open  house  at  the  barn.  Night  and  day  I  kept 
open  house.  I  went  and  came  myself,  knowing  that 
the  sight  of  me  hindered  nobody's  pleasure  ;  but  I  let  in 
no  other  white  person,  and  I  believe  I  gained  the  last 
ing  ill  will  of  the  overseer  by  refusing  him.  I  stood 
responsible  for  everybodj^'s  good  behaviour,  and  had 
no  forfeits  to  pay.  And  enjoyment  reigned,  during 
those  days  in  the  barn  ;  a  gay  enjoyment,  full  of  talk 
and  of  singing  as  well  as  of  feasting ;  full  of  laughter 
and  jokes,  and  full  of  utmost  good-humour  and  kind 
ness  from  one  to  another.  Again,  most  unlike  a  party 
of  Celtic  origin.  It  was  enjoyment  to  me  too ;  very 
great ;  though  dashed  continually  by  the  thought  how 
rare  and  strange  it  was  to  those  around  me.  Only  for 
my  sake,  and  dependent  on  my  little  hand  of  power ; 
having  no  guarantee  or  security  else  for  its  ever  coming 
again.  As  the  holiday  drew  near  its  end,  my  heart 
grew  sore  often  at  the  thought  of  all  my  poor  friends 
going  back  into  their  toil,  hopeless  and  spiritless  as  it 
was,  without  one  ray  to  brighten  the  whole  year  before 
them  till  Christmas  should  come  round  again.  Ay, 
and  this  feeling  was  quickened  every  now  and  then  by 
a  word,  or  a  look,  or  a  tone,  which  told  me  that  I  was 
not  the  only  one  who  remembered  it.  '  Christmas  is 
almos'  gone,  Tony,'  I  heard  one  fine  fellow  say  to  an 
other  at  the  end  of  the  third  day  ;  and  under  the  words 
there  was  a  thread  of  meaning  which  gave  a  twitch  to 
13 


146  DAISY. 

my  heartstrings.  There  were  bursts  of  song  mingled 
with  all  this,  whic^i  I  could  not  bear  to  hear.  In  the 
prayermeetings  I  did  not  mind  them ;  here,  in  the 
midst  of  festivities,  they  almost  choked  me.  '  I'm 
going  home '  • —  sounded  now  so  much  as  if  it  were  in  a 
strange  land ;  and  once  when  a  chorus  of  them  were 
singing,  deep  and  slow,  the  refrain, 

'  In  the  morning  — 
'Chil'len,  in  the  morning  — ' 

I  had  a  great  heartbreak,  and  sat  down  and  cried 
behind  my  sugarplums. 

I  can  bear  to  think  of  it  all  now.  There  were  years 
when  I  could  not. 

After  this  entertainment  was  over,  and  much  more 
stupid  ones  had  been  given  among  polished  people  at 
the  house,  and  the  New  Year  had  swept  in  upon  us 
with  its  fresh  breeze  of  life  and  congratulations,  the 
winter  and  Miss  Pinshon  settled  down  for  unbroken 
sway. 

I  had  little  to  help  me  during  those  months  from 
abroad.  That  is,  I  had  nothing.  My  father  wrote 
seldom.  M}r  mother's  letters  had  small  comfort  for 
me.  They  said  that  papa's  health  mended  slowly  — 
was  very  delicate  —  he  could  not  bear  much  exertion  — 
his  head  would  not  endure  any  excitement.  They 
were  trying  constant  changes  of  scene  and  air.  They 
were  at  Spa,  at  Paris,  at  Florence,  at  Vevay,  in  the 
Pyrenees  ;  not  staying  long  any  where.  The  physicians 
talked  of  a  long  sea  voyage.  From  all  which  I  gradually 
brought  down  my  hopes  into  smaller  and  smaller  com 
pass  ;  till  finally  I  packed  them  up  and  stowed  them  away 
in  the  hidden  furthermost  corner  of  my  heart ;  only  to  be 


WINTER   AND   SUMMER.  147 

brought  out  and  looked  at  when  there  should  be  oc 
casion.  Spring  came  without  the  least  prospect  that 
such  occasion  would  be  given  me  soon.  My  father 
and  mother  were  making  preparation  to  journey  in 
Norway  ;  and  already  there  was  talk  of  a  third  winter 
in  Egypt !  It  was  hoped  that  all  these  changes  were 
not  without  some  slow  and  certain  effect  in  the  way 
of  improvement.  I  think  on  me  they  had  another 
sort  of  effect. 

Spring  as  usual  drove  us  away  from  Magnolia. 
This  summer  was  spent  with  my  aunt  Gary,  at  various 
pleasant  and  cool  up-country  places  ;  where  hills  were, 
and  brooks,  and  sweet  air,  and  flowers ;  and  where  I 
might  have  found  much  to  enjoy.  But  always  Miss 
Pinshon  was  with  me  ;  and  the  quiet  and  freedom  of 
these  places,  with  the  comparative  cool  climate,  made 
it  possible  for  her  to  carry  on  all  her  schemes  for  my 
improvement  just  as  steadily  as  though  we  had  been  at 
Magnolia.  And  I  had  not  Darry  and  my  pony,  which 
indeed,  the  latter,  had  been  of  small  use  to  me  this 
year ;  and  I  had  not  my  band  of  friends  on  the  Sunday 
evening ;  and  even  my  own  maid  Margaret  aunt  Gary 
had  chosen  to  leave  behind.  Miss  Pinshon's  reign  was 
absolute.  I  think  some  of  the  Medusa  properties 
Preston  used  to  talk  about  must  have  had  their  effect 
upon  me  at  this  time.  I  remember  little  of  all  that 
summer,  save  the  work  for  Miss  Pinshon,  and  the 
walks  with  Miss  Pinshon,  and  a  general  impression  of 
those  black  eyes  and  inflexible  voice  and  mathematics 
and  dates  and  a  dull  round  of  lesson  getting.  Not 
knowledge  getting ;  that  would  have  been  quite 
another  affair.  I  seemed  to  be  all  the  while  putting 
up  a  scaffolding,  and  never  coming  to  work  on  the 


148  DAISY. 

actual  Temple  of  Learning  itself.  I  know  we  were  in 
beautiful  regions  that  summer;  but  my  recollection 
is  not  of  them  but  of  rows  of  figures.  And  of  a  very 
grave,  I  think  dull,  and  very  quiet  little  personage, 
who  went  about  like  a  mouse,  for  silentness,  and  gave 
no  trouble  to  anybody,  excepting  only  to  herself. 

The  next  winter  passed  as  the  winter  before  had 
done ;  only  I  had  no  Christmas  entertainment.  My 
father  and  mother  were  in  Egypt ;  perhaps  he  did  not 
think  of  it.  Perhaps  he  did  not  feel  that  he  could 
afford  it.  Perhaps  my  aunt  and  the  overseer  had 
severally  made  representations  to  which  my  father 
thought  it  best  to  listen.  I  had  no  festivities  at  any 
rate  for  my  poor  coloured  people  ;  and  it  made  my  own 
holida}^  a  ver}r  shaded  thing. 

I  found  however  this  winter  one  source  of  amuse 
ment,  and  in  a  measure,  of  comfort.  In  the  bookcases 
which  held  my  grandfather's  library,  there  was  a  pretty 
large  collection  of  books  of  travel.  I  wanted  to  know 
just  then  about  Egypt,  that  I  might  the  better  in  imag 
ination  follow  my  father  and  mother.  I  searched  the 
shelves  for  Egypt ;  and  was  lucky  enough  to  light 
upon  several  works  of  authority  and  then  recent  obser 
vation.  I  feasted  on  these.  I  began  in  the  middle ; 
then  very  soon  went  back  to  the  beginning ;  and  read 
delightedly,  carefully,  patiently,  through  every  detail 
and  discussion  in  which  the  various  authors  indulged. 
Then  I  turned  all  their  pictures  into  living  panorama  ; 
for  I  fancied  my  father  and  mother  in  every  place, 
looking  at  every  wonder  they  described  ;  and  I  enjoyed 
not  merely  what  they  described,  but  my  father's  and 
mother's  enjoyment  of  it.  This  was  a  rare  delight  to 
me.  My  favourite  place  was  the  corner  of  the  study 


WINTER    AND    SUMMER.  149 

fire,  at  dusk,  when  lessons  and  tiresome  wa  ks  for  ths 
day  were  done  and  Miss  Pinshon  was  taking  her  ease 
elsewhere  in  some  other  way.  I  had  the  fire  made  up 
to  burn  brightly,  and  pine  knots  at  hand  to  throw  on 
if  wanted ;  and  with  the  illumination  dancing  all  over 
my  page,  I  went  off  to  regions  of  enchantment,  pleasant 
to  me  beyond  any  fairy  tale.  I  never  cared  much  for 
things  that  were  not  true.  No  chambers  of  Arabian 
fancy  could  have  had  the  fascination  for  me  of  those  old 
Egyptian  halls  ;  nor  all  the  marvels  of  magic  entranced 
me  like  the  wonder-working  hand  of  time.  Those 
books  made  my  comfort  and  my  diversion  all  the 
winter.  For  I  was  not  a  gallopping  reader ;  I  went 
patiently  through  every  page ;  and  the  volumes  were 
many  enough  and  interesting  enough  to  last  me  long. 
I  dreamed  under  the  Sphynx ;  I  wandered  over  the 
pyramids  ;  no  chamber  nor  nook  escaped  me  ;  I  could 
have  guided  a  traveller  —  in  imagination,  I  knew  the 
prospect  from  the  top,  though  I  never  wrote  my  name 
there.  It  seemed  to  me  that  that  was  barbarism.  I 
sailed  up  the  Nile,  delightful  journeys  on  board  the 
Nile  boats,  forgetting  Miss  Pinshon  and  mathematics, 
except  when  I  rather  pitied  the  ancient  Egyptians  for 
being  so  devoted  to  the  latter ;  forgetting  Magnolia, 
and  all  the  home  things  I  could  not  do  and  would  have 
liked  to  do  ;  forgetting  everything,  and  rapt  in  the 
enjoyment  of  tropical  airs,  and  Eastern  skies  ;  hearing 
the  plash  of  water  from  the  everlasting  shadoof,  and 
watching  the  tints  and  colours  on  the  ranges  of  hills 
bordering  the  Nile  valley.  All  my  hills  were  green  ; 
the  hues  of  those  others  were  enough  of  themselves  to 
make  an  enchanted  land.  Still  more,  as  I  stopped  at 
the  various  old  temples  along  the  way,  my  feeling  of 
13* 


150 


DAISY. 


enchantment  increased.  I  threaded  the  mazes  of  rub 
bish,  and  traced  the  plans  of  the  rnins  of  Thebes,  till  I 
was  at  home  in  every  part  of  them.  I  studied  the 
hieroglyphics  and  the  descriptions  of  the  sculptures, 
till  the  names  of  Thothmes  III.,  and  Amunoph  III., 
and  Sethos  and  Rameses  Mi-amun  and  Rameses  III., 
were  as  well  known  to  me  as  the  names  of  the  friends 
whom  I  met  every  Sunday  evening.  I  even  studied 
out  the  old  Eygyptian  mythology,  the  better  to  be  able 
to  understand  the  sculptures,  as  well  as  the  character 
of  those  ancient  people  who  wrought  them  ;  and  to  be 
able  to  fancy  the  sort  of  services  that  were  celebrated 
by  the  priests  in  the  splendid  enclosures  of  the  tem 
ples. 

And  then  I  went  higher  up  the  Nile  and  watched  at 
the  uncovering  of  those  wonderful  colossal  figures 
which  stand,  or  sit,  before  the  temple  of  Abou-Simbel. 
I  tried  to  imagine  what  manner  of  things  such  large 
statues  could  be  ;  I  longed  for  one  sight  of  the  faces, 
said  to  be  so  superb,  which  shewed  what  the  great 
Rameses  looked  like.  Mamma  and  papa  could  see 
them  ;  that  was  a  great  joy.  Belzoni  was  one  of  my 
prime  favourites  ;  and  I  liked  particularly  to  travel 
with  him,  both  there  and  at  the  Tombs  of  the  Kings. 
There  were  some  engravings  scattered  through  the 
various  volumes,  and  a  good  many  plans,  which  helped 
me.  I  studied  them,  faithfully  ;  and  got  from  them  all 
they  could  give  me. 

In  the  Tombs  of  the  Kings,  my  childish  imagination 
found,  I  think,  its  highest  point  of  revelling  and  de 
light.  Those  were  something  stranger,  more  wonder 
ful,  and  more  splendid,  even  than  Abou-Simbel  and 
Karnak.  Many  an  evening,  while  the  firelight  from  a 


WINTER   AND    SUMMER.  151 

Southern  pine  knot  danced  on  my  page,  I  was  gone 
on  the  wings  of  fancy  thousands  of  miles  away ;  and 
went  with  discoverers  or  explorers,  up  and  down  the 
passages  and  halls  and  staircases  and  chambers,  to 
which  the  entrance  is  from  Biban  el  Malook.  I  won 
dered  over  the  empty  sarcophagi ;  held  my  breath  at 
the  pit's  sides  ;  and  was  never  tired  of  going  over  the 
scenes  and  sculptures  done  in  such  brilliant  colours 
upon  those  white  walls.  Once  in  there,  I  quite  forgot 
that  mamma  and  papa  could  see  them ;  I  was  so  busy 
seeing  them  myself. 

This  amusement  of  mine  was  one  which  nobody  in 
terfered  with  ;  and  it  lasted,  as  I  said,  all  winter.  All 
the  winter  my  father  and  mother  were  in  Egj^pt. 
When  spring  came,  I  began  to  look  with  trembling 
eagerness  for  a  letter  that  should  say  they  would  turn 
now  homewards.  I  was  disappointed.  My  father  was 
so  much  better  that  his  physicians  were  encouraged  to 
continue  their  travelling  regimen  ;  and  the  word  came 
that  it  was  thought  best  he  should  try  a  long  sea 
voyage ;  he  was  going  to  China.  My  mother  would 
go  with  him. 

I  think  never  in  my  life  my  spirits  sank  lower  than 
they  did  when  I  heard  this  news.  I  was  not  strong 
nor  very  well,  which  might  have  been  in  part  the  rea 
son.  And  I  was  dull-hearted  to  the  last  degree  under 
the  influence  of  Miss  Pinshon's  system  of  management. 
There  was  no  power  of  reaction  in  me.  It  was  plain 
that  I  was  failing ;  and  my  aunt  interrupted  the  les 
sons  and  took  me  again  to  watering  places  at  the 
North,  from  one  to  another,  giving  me  as  much  change 
as  possible.  It  was  good  for  me  to  be  taken  off  study, 
which  Miss  Pinshon  had  pressed  and  crowded  during 


152  DAISY. 

the  winter.  Sea  bathing  did  me  good,  too ;  and  the 
change  of  scene  and  habits  was  useful.  I  did  not  rise 
to  the  level  of  enjoying  anything  much  ;  onl  y  the  sea 
waves  when  I  was  in  them  ;  at  other  times  I  sat  on  the 
bank  and  watched  the  distant  smoke  stack  of  a 
steamer  going  out,  with  an  inexpressible  longing  and 
soreness  of  heart.  Going,  where  I  would  so  like  to 
go  !  But  there  was  no  word  of  that.  And  indeed  it 
would  not  have  been  advisable  to  take  me  to  China.  I 
did  think  Egypt  would  not  have  been  bad  for  me  ;  but 
it  was  a  thought  which  I  kept  shut  up  in  the  farthest 
stores  of  my  heart. 

The  sea  voyage  however  was  delayed.  My  mother 
took  sick  ;  was  very  ill ;  and  then  unable  to  undertake 
the  going  to  China.  My  father  chose  to  wait  for  hei  ; 
so  the  summer  was  spent  by  them  in  Switzerland  and 
the  autumn  in  Paris.  With  the  first  of  the  New  Year 
they  expected  now  to  sail.  It  suddenly  entered  my 
aunt  Gary's  head  that  it  was  a  good  time  for  her  to  see 
Paris ;  and  she  departed,  taking  Ransom  with  her, 
whom  my  father  wished  to  place  in  a  German  Uni 
versity,  and  meantime  in  a  French  school.  Preston 
had  been  placed  at  the  Military  Academy  at  West 
Point ;  my  aunt  thinking  that  it  made  a  nice  finishing 
of  a  gentleman's  education,  and  would  keep  him  out  of 
mischief  till  he  was  grown  to  man's  estate.  I  was  left 
alone  with  Miss  Pinshon  to  go  back  to  Magnolia  and 
take  up  my  old  life  there. 


SINGLEHANDED.  153 


CHAPTER    VII. 

SINGLEHANDED. 

As  my  aunt  set  sail  for  the  shores  of  Europe,  and 
Miss  Pinshon  and  I  turned  our  faces  towards  Mag 
nolia,  I  seemed  to  see  before  me  a  weary  winter.  I 
was  alone  now ;  there  was  nobody  to  take  my  part  in 
small  or  great  things ;  my  governess  would  have  her 
way.  I  was  so  much  stronger  now  that  no  doubt  she 
thought  I  could  bear  it.  So  it  was.  The  full  tale  of 
studies  and  tasks  was  laid  on  me ;  and  it  lay  on  me 
from  morning  till  night. 

I  had  expected  that.  I  had  looked  also  for  the  com 
fort  and  refreshment  of  ministering  to  my  poor  friends 
in  the  kitchen  on  the  Sunday  evenings.  I  began  as 
usual  with  them.  But  as  the  Sundays  came  round,  I 
found  now  and  then  a  gap  or  two  in  the  circle  ;  and  the 
gaps  as  time  went  on  did  not  fill  up  ;  or  if  they  did  they 
were  succeeded  by  other  gaps.  My  hearers  grew 
fewer,  instead  of  more  ;  the  fact  was  undoubted.  Darry 
was  always  on  the  spot ;  but  the  two  Jems  not  always, 
and  Pete  was  not  sure,  and  Eliza  failed  sometimes, 
and  others  ;  and  this  grew  worse.  Moreover,  a  certain 
grave  and  sad  air  replaced  the  enjoying,  almost  jocund, 
spirit  of  gladness  which  used  to  welcome  me  and  listen 
to  the  reading  and  join  in  the  prayers  and  raise  the 
song.  The  singing  was  not  less  good  than  it  used  to 


154  DAISY. 

be ;  but  it  fell  oftener  into  the  minor  key,  and  then 
poured  along  with  a  steady,  powerful  volume,  deepen 
ing  and  steadying  as  it  went,  which  somehow  swept 
over  my  heart  like  a  wind  from  the  desert.  I  could 
not  well  tell  why,  yet  I  felt  it  trouble  me  ;  sometimes 
my  heart  trembled  with  the  thrill  of  those  sweet  and 
solemn  vibrations.  I  fancied  that  Darry's  prayers  had 
a  somewhat  different  atmosphere  from  the  old.  Yet 
when  I  once  or  twice  asked  Margaret  the  next  morning 
why  such  and  such  a  one  had  not  been  at  the  reading, 
she  gave  me  a  careless  answer,  that  she  supposed  Mr. 
Edwards  had  found  something  for  them  to  do. 

'But  at  night,  Margaret?'  I  said.  'Mr.  Edwards 
cannot  keep  them  at  work  at  night.' 

To  which  she  made  no  answer  ;  and  I  was  for  some 
reason  unwilling  to  press  the  matter.  But  things  went 
on,  not  getting  better  but  worse,  until  I  could  not  bear 
it.  I  watched  my  opportunity  and  got  Maria  alone. 

'  What  is  the  matter,'  I  asked,  '  that  the  peopje  do 
not  come  on  Sunday  evening  as  they  used  ?  Are  they 
tired  of  the  reading,  Maria  ? ' 

'  I  spect  dey's  as  tired  as  a  fish  inus'  be  of  de  water,' 
said  Maria.  She  had  a  fine  specimen  under  her  hand 
at  the  moment,  which  I  suppose  suggested  the  figure. 

'  Then  why  do  they  not  come  as  usual,  Maria? 
there  were  only  a  few  last  night.' 

'  Dere  was  so  few,   it  was  lonesome,'  said  Maria. 

4  Then  what  is  the  reason  ? ' 

'Dere  is  more  reasons  for  t'ings,  den  Maria  can 
make  out,'  —  she  said  thoughtfully.  '  Mebbe  it's  to 
make  'em  love  de  priv'lege  mo'.' 

1  But  what  keeps  them  away,  Maria?  what  hinders?' 

'  Chile,  de  Lord  hab  h/s  angels,  and  de  devil  he  hab 


SINGLEHAKDED.  155 

his  ministers ;  and  cley  takes  all  sorts  o'  shapes,  de 
angels  and  de  ministers  too.  I  reckon  dere's  some 
work  o'  dat  sort  goin'  on.' 

Maria  spoke  in  a  sort  of  sententious  wisdom  which 
did  not  satisfy  me  at  all.  I  thought  there  was  some 
thing  behind. 

4  Who  is  doing  the  work,  Maria  ? '  I  asked  after  a 
minute. 

4  Miss  Daisy,'  she  said,  '  dere  aint  no  happenin'  at 
all  widout  de  Lord  lets  it  happen.  Dere  is  much  con- 
trairy  in  dis  world,  —  fact,  dere  is  !  —  but  I  'spect  de 
Lord  make  it  all  up  to  us  by'm  by.' 

And  she  turned  her  face  full  upon  me  with  a  smile  of 
BO  much  quiet  resting  in  that  truth,  that  for  just  a 
moment  it  silenced  me. 

4  Miss  Daisy  aint  lookin'  quite  so  peart  as  she  use  to 
look,'  Maria  went  on.  But  I  slipped  away  from  that 
diversion. 

4  Maria,'  I  said,  you  don't  tell  me  what  is  the  mat 
ter;  and  I  wish  to  know.  What  keeps  the  people, 
Pete  and  Eliza  and  all,  from  coming?  What  hinders 
them,  Maria?  I  wish  to  know.' 

Maria  busied  herself  with  her  fish  for  a  minute, 
turning  and  washing  it ;  then  without  looking  up  from 
her  work  she  said  in  a  lowered  tone, 

4  'Spect  de  overseer,  he  don't  hab  no  favour  to  such 
ways  and  meetin's.' 

4  But  with  me  ? '  I  said ;  4  and  with  aunt  Gary's 
leave  ? ' 

4  S'pose  he  like  to  fix  t'ings  his  own  way,'  said 
Maria. 

4  Does  he  forbid  them  to  come  ? '  I  asked. 

4 1  reckon  be  do.'  —  she  said  with  a  sigh. 


156  DAISY. 

Maria  was  very  even-tempered,  quiet,  and  wise,  in 
her  own  way.  Her  sigh  went  through  my  heart.  I 
stood  thinking  what  plan  I  could  take. 

1  De  Lord  is  bery  good,  Miss  Daisy,'  she  said 
cheerily  a  moment  after  ;  '  and  dem  dat  love  him,  dere 
can  be  no  sort  o'  separation,  no  ways.' 

'Does  Mr.  Edwards  forbid  them  all  to  come?'  I 
asked.  '  For  a  good  many  do  come.' 

'  Spect  he  don't  like  de  meetin's,  no  how,'  said 
Maria. 

'But  does  he  tell  all  the  people  they  must  not 
come  ? ' 

4 1  reckon  he  make  it  oncomfor'ble  for  'em,'  Maria 
answered  gravely.  '  Dere  is  no  end  o'  de  mean  ways 
o'  sich  folks.  Know  he  aint  no  gentleman,  no  how  ! ' 

'What  does  he  do,  Maria?'  I  said  trembling,  yet 
unable  to  keep  back  the  question. 

'  He  can  do  what  he  please,  Miss  Daisy,'  Maria  said 
in  the  same  grave  way.  ' '  Cept  de  Lord  above,  dere 
no  one  can  hinder  —  now  massa  so  fur.  Bes'  pray  de 
Lord,  and  mebbe  he  sen'  his  angel,  some  time.' 

Maria's  fish  was  ready  for  the  kettle ;  some  of  the 
other  servants  came  in ;  and  I  went  with  a  heavy 
heart  up  the  stairs.  'Massa  so  fur'  —  yes!  I  knew 
that ;  and  Mr.  Edwards  knew  it  too.  Once  sailed  for 
China ;  and  it  would  be  long,  long,  before  my  cry  for 
help,  in  the  shape  of  one  of  my  little  letters,  could 
reach  him  and  get  back  the  answer.  My  heart  felt 
heavy  as  if  I  could  die,  while  I  slowly  mounted  the 
stairs  to  my  room.  It  was  not  only  that  trouble  was 
brought  upon  my  poor  friends,  nor  even  that  their 
short  enjoyment  of  the  Word  of  life  was  hindered  and 
interrupted ;  above  this  and  worse  than  this  was  the 


SINGLEHANDED.  157 

sense  of  wrong,  done  to  these  helpless  people,  and 
done  by  my  own  father  and  mother.  This  sense  was 
something  too  bitter  for  a  child  of  my  years  to  bear ; 
it  crushed  me  for  a  time.  Our  people  had  a  right  to 
the  Bible,  as  great  as  mine ;  a  right  to  dispose  of 
themselves,  as  true  as  my  father's  right  to  dispose  of 
himself.  Christ,  my  Lord,  had  died  for  them  as  well 
as  for  me ;  and  here  was  my  father,  —  my  father  — 
practically  saying  that  they  should  not  hear  of  it,  nor 
know  the  message  He  had  sent  to  them.  And  if  any 
thing  could  have  made  this  more  bitter  to  me,  it  was 
the  consciousness  that  the  reason  of  it  all  was  that  we 
might  profit  by  it.  Those  unpaid  hands  wrought  that 
our  hands  might  be  free  to  do  nothing ;  those  empty 
cabins  were  bare,  in  order  that  our  houses  might  be 
full  of  every  soft  luxury ;  those  unlettered  minds  were 
kept  unlettered  that  the  rarest  of  intellectual  wealth 
might  be  poured  into  our  treasury.  I  knew  it.  For  I 
had  written  to  my  father  once  to  beg  his  leave  to 
establish  schools,  where  the  people  on  the  plantation 
might  be  taught  to  read  and  write.  He  had  sent  a 
very  kind  answer,  saying  it  was  just  like  his  little 
Daisy  to  wish  such  a  thing,  and  that  his  wish  was  not 
against  it,  if  it  could  be  done  ;  but  that  the  laws  of  the 
State,  and  for  wise  reasons,  forbade  it.  Greatly  puz 
zled  by  this,  I  one  day  carried  my  puzzle  to  Preston. 
He  laughed  at  me  as  usual,  but  at  the  same  time 
explained  that  it  would  not  be  safe ;  for  that  if  the 
slaves  were  allowed  books  and  knowledge,  they  would 
soon  not  be  content  with  their  condition,  and  would  be 
banding  together  to  make  themselves  free.  I  knew  all 
this,  and  I  had  been  brooding  over  it ;  and  now  when 
the  powerful  hand  of  the  overseer  came  in  to  hinder 
14 


158  DAISY. 

the  little  bit  of  good  and  comfort  I  was  tiying  to  give 
the  people,  my  heart  was  set  on  fire  with  a  sense  of 
sorrow  and  wrong  that,  as  I  said,  no  child  ought  ever 
to  know. 

I  think  it  made  me  ill.  I  could  not  eat.  I  studied 
like  a  machine,  and  went  and  came  as  Miss  Pinshon 
bade  me  ;  all  the  while  brooding  by  myself  and  turning 
over  and  over  in  my  heart  the  furrows  of  thought  which 
seemed  at  first  to  promise  no  harvest.  Yet  those  fur 
rows  never  break  the  soil  for  nothing.  In  due  time 
the  seed  fell ;  and  the  fruit  of  a  ripened  purpose  came 
to  maturity. 

I  did  not  give  up  my  Sunday  readings ;  even  al 
though  the  numbers  of  my  hearers  grew  scantier.  As 
many  as  could,  we  met  together  to  read  and  to  pray, 
yes,  and  to  sing.  And  I  shall  never  in  this  world 
hear  such  singing  again.  One  refrain  comes  back  to 
me  now  — 

'0  had  I  the  wings  of  the  morning  — 
'  0  had  I  the  wings  of  the  morning  — 
'  0  had  I  the  wings  of  the  morning  — 
'I'd  fly  to  my  Jesus  away! ' 

I  used  to  feel  so  too,  as  I  listened  and  sometimes 
sung  with  them. 

Meantime,  all  that  I  could  do  with  my  quarterly  ten 
dollars,  I  did.  And  there  was  many  a  little  bit  of 
pleasure  I  could  give  ;  what  with  a  tulip  here  and  a  cup 
of  tea  there,  and  a  bright  handkerchief,  or  a  pair  of 
shoes.  Few  of  the  people  had  spirit  and  cultivation 
enough  to  care  for  the  flowers.  But  Maria  cherished 
some  red  and  white  tulips  and  a  Iryacinth  in  her  kitchen 
window,  as  if  they  had  been  her  children  ;  and  to 
Darry  a  white  rose  tree  I  had  given  him  seemed  al- 


SINGLERANDE.-).  159 

most  to  take  the  place  of  a  familiar  spirit.  Even 
grave  Pete,  whom  I  only  saw  now  and  then  this  winter 
at  my  readings,  nursed  and  tended  and  watched  a  bed 
of  crocuses  with  endless  delight  and  care.  All  the 
while,  my  Sunday  circle  of  friends  grew  constantly 
fewer ;  and  the  songs  that  were  sung  at  our  hindered 
meetings  had  a  spirit  in  them,  which  seemed  to  me  to 
speak  of  a  deep-lying  fire  somewhere  in  the  hearts  of 
the  singers,  hidden,  but  always  ready  to  burst  into  a 
blaze.  Was  it  because  the  fire  was  burning  in  my 
own  heart  ? 

I  met  one  of  the  two  Jems  in  the  pine  avenue  one 
day.  He  greeted  me  with  the  pleasantest  of  broad 
smiles. 

'Jem,'  said  I,  'why  don't  you  come  to  the  house 
Sunday  evenings,  any  more  ? ' 

*  It  don't  'pear  practical,  missie.'  Jem  was  given  to 
large-sized  words,  when  he  could  get  hold  of  them. 

4  Mr.  Edwards  hinders  you?' 

4  Mass'  Ed'ards  bery  smart  man,  Miss  Daisy.  He 
want  massa's  work  done  up  all  jus'  so.' 

'And  he  says  that  the  prayermeeting  hinders  the 
work,  Jem  ? ' 

'  'Clar,  missis,  Mass'  Ed'ards  got  long  head  ;  he  see 
furder  den  me,'  Jem  said,  shaking  his  own  head  as  if 
the  whole  thing  were  beyond  him.  I  let  him  go.  But 
a  day  or  two  after  I  attacked  Margaret  on  the  subject. 
She  and  Jem,  I  knew,  were  particular  friends.  Marga 
ret  was  oracular  and  mysterious,  and  looked  like  a 
thunder  cloud.  I  got  nothing  from  her,  except  an 
increase  of  uneasiness.  I  was  afraid  to  go  further  in 
my  inquiries  ;  yet  could  not  rest  without.  The  house 
servants,  I  knew,  would  not  be  likely  to  tell  me  any- 


160  DAISY. 

thing  that  would  trouble  me,  if  the}7  could  help  it. 
The  only  exception  was  mammy  Theresa ;  who  with 
all  her  love  for  me  had  either  less  tact,  or  had  grown 
from  long  habit  hardened  to  the  state  of  things  in 
which  she  had  been  brought  up.  From  her,  by  a  little 
cross  questioning,  I  learned  that  Jem  and  others  had 
been  forbidden  to  come  to  the  Sunday  readings  ;  and 
their  disobeying  had  been  visited  with  the  lash,  not 
once  nor  twice  ;  till,  as  mammy  Theresa  said,  '  'peared 
like  it  warn't  no  use  to  try  to  be  good  agin  de  devil.' 

And  papa  was  away  on  his  voyage  to  China,  away 
on  the  high  seas,  where  no  letter  could  reach  him ;  and 
Mr.  Edwards  knew  that.  There  was  a  fire  in  my  heart 
now,  that  burned  with  sharp  pain.  I  felt  as  if  it  would 
burn  my  heart  out.  And  now  took  shape  and  form 
one  single  aim  and  purpose,  which  became  for  years 
the  foremost  one  of  my  life.  It  had  been  growing  and 
gathering.  I  set  it  clear  before  me  from  this  time. 

Meanwhile,  my  mother's  daughter  was  not  willing  to 
be  entirely  baffled  by  the  overseer.  I  arranged  with 
Darry  that  I  would  be  at  the  Cemetery  hill  on  all 
pleasant  Sunday  afternoons ;  and  that  all  who  wished 
to  hear  me  read,  or  who  wished  to  learn  themselves, 
might  meet  me  there.  The  Sunday  afternoons  were 
often  pleasant  that  winter.  I  was  constantly  at  my 
post ;  and  many  a  one  crept  round  to  me  from  the 
quarters  and  made  his  way  through  the  graves  and 
the  trees  to  where  I  sat  by  the  iron  railing.  We  Avere 
safe  there.  Nobody  but  me  liked  the  place.  Miss 
Pinshon  and  the  overseer  agreed  in  shunning  it.  And 
there  was  promise  in  the  blue  sky,  and  hope  in  the  soft 
sunshine,  and  sympathy  in  the  sweet  rustle  of  the  pine 
leaves.  Why  not?  Are  they  not  all  God's  voices. 


SINGLEHANDED.  161 

And  the  words  of  the  Book  were  very  pn-cious  there. 
to  me  and  many  another.  I  was  rather  more  left  to 
myself  of  late.  My  governess  gave  me  my  lessons 
quite  as  assiduously  as  ever ;  but  after  lesson  time  she 
seemed  to  have  something  else  to  take  her  attention. 
She  did  not  walk  often  with  me,  as  the  spring  drew 
near ;  and  my  Sunday  afternoons  were  absolutely  un 
questioned. 

One  day  in  March,  I  had  gone  to  my  favourite  place 
to  get  out  a  lesson.  It  was  not  Sunday  afternoon  of 
course.  I  was  tired  with  my  day's  work,  or  I  was  not 
very  strong ;  for  though  I  had  work  to  do,  the  witch 
eries  of  nature  prevailed  with  me  to  put  down  my  book. 
The  scent  of  pine  buds  and  flowers  made  the  air  sweet 
to  smell,  and  the  spring  sun  made  it  delicious  to  feel. 
The  light  won  its  way  tenderly  among  the  trees,  touch 
ing  the  white  marble  tombstones  behind  me,  but  resting 
with  a  more  gentle  ray  upon  the  moss  and  turf  where 
only  little  bits  of  rough  board  marked  the  sleeping 
places  of  our  dependants.  Just  out  of  sight,  through 
the  still  air  I  could  hear  the  river,  in  its  rippling  flow 
past  the  bank  at  the  top  of  which  I  sat.  My  book 
Imng  in  my  hand,  and  the  course  of  Universal  History 
was  forgotten  ;  while  I  mused  and  mused  over  the  two 
sorts  of  graves  that  lay  around  me,  the  two  races,  the 
diverse  fate  that  attended  them  ;  while  one  blue  sky 
was  over,  and  one  sunlight  fell  down.  And  '  while  I 
was  musing,  the  fire  burned,'  more  fiercely  than  ever 
David's  had  occasion  when  he  wrote  those  words. 
'  Then  spake  I  with  my  tongue.'  I  would  have  liked 
to  do  that.  But  I  could  do  nothing  ;  only  pray. 

I  was  very  much  startled  while  I  sat  in  my  muse,  to 
hear  a  lootstep  coining.  A  steady,  regular,  footstep  ; 
14* 


162  DAISY. 

no  light  trip  of  children ;  and  the  hands  were  in  the 
field,  and  this  was  not  a  step  like  any  of  them.  My 
first  thought  was,  the  overseer !  come  to  spy  me  out. 
The  next  minute  I  saw  through  the  trees  and  the  iron 
railings  behind  me,  that  it  was  not  the  overseer.  I 
knew  his  wide-awake  ;  and  this  head  was  crowned  writh 
some  sort  of  a  cap.  I  turned  my  head  again  and  sat 
quiet ;  willing  to  be  overlooked,  if  that  might  be.  The 
steps  never  slackened.  I  heard  them  coming  round 
the  railing  —  then  just  at  the  corner  —  I  looked  up,  to 
see  the  cap  lifted,  and  a  smile  coming  upon  features 
that  I  knew ;  but  my  own  thoughts  were  so  very  far 
away  that  my  visiter  had  almost  reached  my  side 
before  I  could  recollect  who  it  was.  I  remember  I 
got  up  then  in  a  little  hurry. 

4  It  is  Doctor  Sandford ! '  I  exclaimed,  as  his  hand 
took  mine. 

4  Is  it  Daisy?  '  answered  the  doctor. 

4  I  think  so,'  I  said. 

4  And  I  think  so,'  he  said,  looking  at  me  after  the 
old  fashion.  4  Sit  down,  and  let  me  make  sure.' 

4  You  must  sit  on  the  grass,  then,'  I  said. 

4  Not  a  bad  thing,  in  such  a  pleasant  place,'  he  re 
joined,  sending  his  blue  eye  all  round  my  prospect. 
4  But  it  is  not  so  pleasant  a  place  as  White  Lake, 
Daisy.' 

Such  a  flood  of  memories  and  happy  associations 
came  rushing  into  my  mind  at  these  words,  —  he  had 
not  given  them  time  to  come  in  slowly,  —  I  suppose 
my  face  shewed  it.  The  doctor  looked  at  me  and 
smiled. 

4 1  see  it  is  Daisy,'  he  said.  4 1  think  it  is  certainly 
Daisy.  So  you  do  not  like  Magnolia? ' 


SINGLE  HANDED.  163 

4  Yes,  I  do,'  I  said,  wondering  where  he  got  that  con 
clusion.  '  I  like  the  place  very  much,  if — ' 

'  I  should  like  to  have  the  finishing  of  that  "  if "  — 
if  you  have  no  objection.' 

'  I  like  the  place'  I  repeated.  '  There  are  some  things 
about  it  I  do  not  like.' 

'  Climate,  perhaps?' 

'  I  did  not  mean  the  climate.  I  do  not  think  I  meant 
anything  that  belonged  to  the  place  itself.' 

'  How  do  you  do  ? '  was  the  doctor's  next  question. 

4 1  am  very  well,  sir.' 

'  How  do  you  know  it  ? ' 

4  I  suppose  I  am,'  I  said.  '  I  am  not  sick.  I  always 
say  I  am  well.' 

4  For  instance,  you  are  so  well  that  you  never  get 
tired?' 

4  O  I  get  tired  very  often.     I  always  did.' 

4  What  sort  of  things  make  you  tired?  Do  you  take 
too  long  drives  in  your  pony  chaise  ? ' 

'  I  have  no  pony  chaise  now,  Dr.  Sandford.  Loupe 
was  left  at  Melbourne.  I  don't  know  what  became  of 
him.' 

4  Why  didn't  you  bring  him  along  ?  But  any  other 
pony  would  do,  Daisy.' 

4 1  don't  drive  at  all,  Dr.  Sandford.  My  aunt  and 
governess  do  not  like  to  have  me  drive  as  I  used  to  do. 
I  wish  I  could  ! ' 

4  You  would  like  to  use  your  pony  chaise  again?' 

4  Very  much.     I  know  it  would  rest  me.' 

4  And  you  have  a  governess,  Daisy?  That  is  some 
thing  you  had  not  at  Melbourne.' 

4  No  — '  I  said. 

4  A  governess  is  a  very  nice  thing,'  said  the  doctor, 


164  DAIST. 

taking  off  his  hat  and  leaning  back  against  the  iron 
railing,  — '  if  she  knows  properly  how  to  set  people  to 
play/ 

4  To  play  ! '  I  echoed.  '  I  don't  know  whether  Miss 
Pinshon  approves  of  play.' 

4  Oh !     She  approves  of  work  then,  does  she  ?  ' 

4  She  likes  work,'  I  answered. 

'Keeps  you  busy?' 

4  Most  of  the  clay,  sir.' 

4  The  evenings  you  have  to  yourself  ? ' 

4  Sometimes.  Not  always.  Sometimes  I  cannot  get 
through  with  my  lessons,  and  they  stretch  on  into  the 
evening.' 

4  How  many  lessons  does  this  lady  think  a  person  of 
your  age  and  capacity  can  manage  in  the  twenty-four 
hours  ? '  said  the  doctor,  taking  out  his  knife  as  he 
spoke  and  beginning  to  trim  the  thorns  off  a  bit  of 
sweet-briar  he  had  cut.  I  stopped  to  make  the  reck 
oning. 

4  Give  me  the  course  of  your  day,  Daisy.  And  by 
the  by,  when  does  your  day  begin  ? ' 

4  It  begins  at  half  past  seven,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

4  With  breakfast?' 

4  No  sir.     I  have  a  recitation  before  breakfast.' 

4  Please,  of  what  ? ' 

4  Miss  Pinshon  always  begins  with  mathematics/ 

4  As  a  bitters.  Do  you  find  that  it  gives  you  an 
appetite  ? ' 

By  this  time  I  was  very  near  bursting  into  tears. 
The  familiar  voice  and  way,  the  old  time  they  brought 
back,  the  contrasts  they  forced  together,  the  different 
days  of  Melbourne  and  of  my  Southern  home,  the  forms 
and  voices  of  mamma  and  papa,  —  they  all  came  crowd- 


S1NGLEHANDED.  165 

ing  and  flitting  before  me.  I  was  obliged  to  delay  my 
answer.  I  knew  that  Dr.  Sandford  looked  at  me; 
then  he  went  on  in  a  very  gentle  way  — 

4  Sweetbriar  is  sweet,  —  Daisy '  —  putting  it  to  my 
nose.  *  I  should  like  to  know,  how  long  does  mathe 
matics  last,  before  you  are  allowed  to  have  coffee? ' 

4  Mathematics  only  lasts  half  an  hour.  But  then  I 
have  an  hour  of  study  in  Mental  Philosophy  before 
breakfast.  We  breakfast  at  nine.' 

4  It  must  take  a  great  deal  of  coffee  to  wash  down 
all  that,'  said  the  doctor  lazily  trimming  his  sweet- 
briar.  '  Don't  you  find  that  you  are  very  hungry  when 
you  come  to  breakfast  ? ' 

4  No,  not  generally,'  I  said. 

4  How  is  that?  where  there  is  so  much  sharpening 
of  the  wits,  people  ought  to  be  sharp  otherwise.' 

4  My  wits  do  not  get  sharpened,'  I  said,  half  laugh 
ing.  4 1  think  they  get  dull ;  and  I  am  often  dull 
altogether  by  breakfast  time.' 

4  What  time  in  the  day  do  you  walk  ? ' 

4  In  the  afternoon  —  when  we  have  done  with  the 
schoolroom.  But  lately  Miss  Pinshon  does  not  walk 
much.' 

4  So  you  take  the  best  of  the  day  for  philosophy  ? ' 

'  No,  sir,  for  mathematics.' 

4  Oh  !  —  Well,  Daisy,  after  philosophy  and  mathe 
matics  have  both  had  their  turn;  what  then?  when 
breakfast  is  over.' 

4  O  they  have  two  or  three  more  turns  in  the  course 
of  the  day,'  I  said.  4  Astronomy  comes  after  break 
fast  ;  then  Smith's  Wealth  of  Nations ;  then  Chemis 
try.  Then  I  have  a  long  History  lesson  to  recite ; 
then  French.  After  dinner  we  have  Natural  Philos- 


166  DAISY. 

ophy,  and  Physical  Geography  and  Mathematics  ;  and 
then  we  have  generally  done.' 

4  And  then  what  is  left  of  you  goes  to  walk,'  said  the 
doctor. 

4  No,  not  very  often  now/  I  said.  4  I  don't  know 
why,  Miss  Pinshon  has  very  much  given  up  walking 
of  late.' 

1  Then  what  becomes  of  you  ? ' 

4 1  do  not  often  want  to  do  much  of  anything,'  I 
said.  4  To-day  I  came  here/ 

4  With  a  book,'  said  the  doctor.  4  Is  it  work  or 
play?' 

4  My  History  lesson,'  I  said  shewing  the  book.  '  I 
had  not  quite  time  enough  at  home.' . 

'  How  much  of  a  lesson,  for  instance?'  said  the  doc 
tor  taking  the  book  and  turning  over  the  leaves. 

4 1  had  to  make  a  synopsis  of  the  state  of  Europe 
from  the  third  century  to  the  tenth  ;  —  synchronizing 
the  events  and  the  names.' 

4  In  writing? ' 

4 1  might  write  it  if  I  chose,  —  I  often  do,  —  but  I 
have  to  give  the  synopsis  by  memory.' 

4 Does  it  take  long  to  prepare,  Daisy?'  said  the 
doctor,  still  turning  over  the  leaves. 

4  Pretty  long,'  I  said, 4  when  I  am  stupid.  Sometimes 
I  cannot  do  the  synchronizing,  my  head  gets  so  thick  ; 
and  I  have  to  take  two  or  three  days  for  it.' 

4  Don't  you  get  punished,  for  letting  your  head  get 
thick?' 

4  Sometimes  I  do.' 

4  And  what  is  the  system  of  punishment  at  Magnolia 
for  such  deeds  ?  ' 

4 1  am  kept  in  the  house  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon 


SINGLEHANDED.  167 

sometimes,'  I  said ;  4  or  I  have  an  extra  problem  in 
mathematics  to  get  out  for  the  next  morning/ 

4  And  that  keeps  you  in,  if  the  governess  don't/ 

'  O  no,'  I  said  ;  '  I  never  can  work  at  it  then.  I  get 
up  earlier  the  next  morning.' 

4  Do  you  do  nothing  for  exercise  but  those  walks, 
which  you  do  not  take  ?  ' 

4 1  used  to  ride  last  year,'  I  said  ;  'and  this  year  I  was 
stronger,  and  Miss  Pinshon  gave  me  more  studies ; 
and  somehow  I  have  not  cared  to  ride  so  much.  I 
have  felt  more  like  being  still/ 

4  You  must  have  grown  tremendously  wise,  Daisy,' 
said  the  doctor,  looking  round  at  me  now  with  his  old 
pleasant  smile.  I  cannot  tell  the  pleasure  and  comfort 
it  was  to  me  to  see  him  ;  but  I  think  I  said  nothing. 

4  It  is  near  the  time  now  when  you  always  leave 
Magnolia  —  is  it  not  ? ' 

4  Very  near  now/ 

4  Would  it  trouble  you  to  have  the  time  a  little  an 
ticipated  ? ' 

I  looked  at  him,  in  much  doubt  what  this  might 
mean.  The  doctor  fumbled  in  his  breast  pocket  and 
fetched  out  a  letter. 

4  Just  before  your  father  sailed  for  China,  he  sent 
me  this.  It  was  some  time  before  it  reached  me  ;  and 
it  was  some  time  longer  before  I  could  act  upon  it/ 

He  put  a  letter  in  my  hand,  which  I,  wondering, 
read.  It  said,  the  letter  did,  that  papa  was  not  at 
ease  about  me ;  that  he  was  not  satisfied  with  my 
aunt's  report  of  me,  nor  with  the  style  of  my  late 
letters  ;  and  begged  Dr.  Sand  ford  would  run  down  to 
Magnolia  at  his  earliest  convenience  and  see  me  and 
make  enquiry  as  to  my  well-being ;  and  if  he  found 


168  DAISY. 

things  not  satisfactory,  as  my  father  feared  he  might 
and  judged  that  the  rule  of  Miss  Pinshon  had  not 
been  good  for  me  on  the  whole,  my  father  desired  that 
Dr.  Sandford  would  take  measures  to  have  me  removed 
to  the  North  and  placed  in  one  of  the  best  schools 
there  to  be  found  ;  such  a  one  as  Mrs.  Sandford  might 
recommend.  The  letter  further  desired,  that  Dr.  Sand- 
ford  would  keep  a  regular  watch  over  my  health,  and 
suffer  no  school  training  nor  anything  else  to  interfere 
with  it ;  expressing  the  writer's  confidence  that  Dr. 
Sandford  knew  better  than  any  one  what  was  good  for 
me. 

'  So  you  see,  Daisy,'  the  doctor  said,  when  I  handed 
him  back  the  letter,  '  your  father  has  constituted  me 
in  some  sort  your  guardian,  until  such  time  as  he 
comes  back.' 

'  I  am  very  glad,'  I  said,  smiling. 

*  Are  you  ?  That  is  kind.  I  am  going  to  act  upon 
my  authority  immediately,  and  take  you  away.' 

'  From  Magnolia  ? '  I  said  breathlessly. 

'  Yes.  "Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  and  see  Melbourne 
again  for  a  little  while  ? ' 

4  Melbourne  ! '  said  I ;  and  I  remember  how  my 
cheeks  grew  warm.  'But  —  will  Miss  Pinshon  go  to 
Melbourne  ? ' 

'  No  ;  she  will  not.  Nor  anywhere  else,  Daisy,  with 
my  will  and  permission,  where  you  go.  Will  that  dis 
tress  you  very  much  ? ' 

I  could  not  say  yes,  and  I  believe  I  made  no  answer, 
my  thoughts  were  in  such  a  whirl. 

4  Is  Mrs.  Sandford  in  Melbourne  —  I  mean,  near  Mel 
bourne  —  now  ? '  I  asked  at  length. 

1  No,  she  is  in  Washington.     But  she  will  be  going 


SINGLEnAXDED.  16$ 

to  the  old  place  before  long.  Would  you  like  to  go, 
Daisy?' 

I  could  hardly  tell  him.  I  could  hardly  think.  It 
began  to  rush  over  me,  that  this  parting  from  Mag 
nolia  was  likely  to  be  for  a  longer  time  than  usual. 
The  river  murmured  by  —  the  sunlight  shone  on  the 
groves  on  the  hillside.  Who  would  look  after  my  poor 
people  ? 

4  You  like  Magnolia  after  all  ? '  said  the  doctor.  '  I 
do  not  wonder,  as  far  as  Magnolia  goes.  You  are 
sorry  to  leave  it/ 

'  No,'  I  said,  — c  I  am  not  sorry  at  all  to  leave  Mag 
nolia  ;  I  am  very  glad.  I  am  only  sorry  to  leave  — 
some  friends.' 

4  Friends  — '  said  the  doctor. 

4  Yes.' 

'  How  many  friends  ? ' 

*  I  don't  know/  said  I.     4 1  think  there  are  a  hun 
dred  or  more.' 

'  Seriously  ? ' 

'  O  yes,'  I  said,     4  They  are  all  on  the  place  here.' 

*  How  long  will  you  want,  Daisy,  to  take  proper 
leave  of  these  friends?' 

I  had  no  idea  he  was  in  such  practical  haste ;  but  I 
found  it  was  so. 
15 


170  DAISY. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

EGYPTIAN    GLASS. 

IT  became  necessary  for  me  to  think  how  soon  I 
could  be  ready,  and  arrange  to  get  my  leave-takings 
over  by  a  certain  time.  Dr.  Sandford  could  not  wait 
for  me.  He  was  an  army  surgeon  now,  I  found,  and 
stationed  at  Washington.  He  had  to  return  to  his 
post  and  leave  Miss  Pinshon  to  bring  me  up  to  Wash 
ington.  I  fancy  matters  were  easily  arranged  with 
Miss  Pinshon.  She  was  as  meek  as  a  lamb.  But  it 
never  was  her  way  to  fight  against  circumstances. 
The  doctor  ordered  that  I  should  come  up  to  Wash 
ington  in  a  week  or  two. 

I  did  not  know  till  he  was  gone,  what  a  hard  week 
it  was  going  to  be. 

As  soon  as  he  had  turned  his  back  upon  Magnolia, 
my  leave-takings  began.  I  may  say  they  began  sooner  : 
for  in  the  morning  after  his  arrival,  when  Margaret 
was  in  my  room,  she  fell  to  questioning  me  abou*  the 
truth  of  the  rumour  that  had  reached  the  kitchen.  Jim 
said  I  was  going  away,  not  to  come  back.  I  do  not 
know  how  he  had  got  hold  of  the  notion.  And  when  I 
told  her  it  was  true,  she  dropped  the  pine  splinters 
out  of  her  hands  and  rising  to  her  feet  besought  me 
that  I  would  take  her  with  me.  So  eagerly  she  be 
sought  me,  that  I  had  much  difficulty  to  answer. 


EGYPTIAN  GLASS.  171 

*  I  shall  be  in  a  school,  Margaret/  I  said.  '  I  could 
not  have  anybody  there  to  wait  on  me.' 

4  Miss  Daisy  won't  never  do  everything  for  herself/ 

i  Yes,  I  must,'  I  said.     '  All  the  girls  do.' 

1  I'd  hire  out  then,  Miss  Daisy,  while  you  don't  want 
me  —  I'd  be  right  smart  —  and  I'd  bring  all  my 
earnin's  to  you  regular.  'Deed  I  will!  Till  Miss 
Daisy  want  me  herself.' 

I  felt  my  cheeks  flush.  She  would  bring  her  earn 
ings  to  me.  Yes,  that  was  what  we  were  doing. 

4  'Clar,  Miss  Daisy,  do  don't  leave  me  behind !  I 
could  take  washin'  and  do  all  Miss  Daisy's  things  up 
right  smart  —  don't  believe  they  knows  how  to  do 
things  up  there  !  —  I'll  come  to  no  good  if  I  don't  go 
with  Miss  Daisy,  sure.' 

1  You  can  be  good  here  as  well  as  anywhere,  Mar 
garet,'  I  said. 

4  Miss  Daisy  don'  know.  Miss  Daisy  spose  the 
devil  walkin'  round  about  a  place ;  —  think  it  a  nice 
place  fur  to  be  good  in  ? ' 

4  The  devil  is  not  in  Magnolia  more  than  anywhere 
else,'  I  said. 

4  Dere  Mass'  Edwards,  — '  Margaret  said  half  under 
her  breath.  Even  in  my  room  she  would  not  speak  the 
name  out  loud. 

The  end  of  it  was,  that  I  wrote  up  to  Washington  to 
Dr.  Sandford  to  ask  if  I  might  take  the  girl  with  me  ; 
and  his  answer  came  back,  that  if  it  were  any  pleasure 
to  me  I  certainly  might.  So  that  matter  was  settled. 
But  the  parting  with  the  rest  was  hard.  I  do  not 
know  whether  it  was  hardest  for  them  or  for  me. 
Darry  blessed  me  and  prayed  for  me.  Maria  wept 
over  me.  Theresa  mourned  and  lamented.  Tears 


172  DAISY. 

and  wailings  came  from  all  the  poor  women  who  knew 
me  best  and  used  to  come  to  the  Sunday  readings ; 
and  Pete  took  occasion  to  make  private  request,  that 
when  I  was  grown,  or  when  at  any  time  I  should  want 
a  man  servant,  I  would  remember  and  send  for  him. 
He  could  do  anything,  he  said ;  he  could  drive  horses 
or  milk  cows  or  take  care  of  a  garden,  or  cook.  It 
was  said  in  a  subdued  voice,  and  though  with  a  gleam 
of  his  white  circle  of  teeth  at  the  last  mentioned  ac 
complishment,  it  was  said  with  a  depth  of  grave 
earnestness  which  troubled  me.  I  promised  as  well  as 
I  could ;  but  my  heart  was  very  sore  for  my  poor 
people,  left  now  without  anybodj7",  even  so  much  as  a 
child,  to  look  after  their  comfort  and  give  them  any 
hopes  for  one  world  or  the  other. 

Those  heavy  days  were  done  at  last.  Margaret  was 
speedy  with  my  packing  ;  a  week  from  the  time  of 
Dr.  Sandford's  coming,  I  had  said  my  last  lesson  to 
Miss  Pinshon,  read  my  last  reading  to  my  poor  people, 
shaken  the  last  handshakings  ;  and  we  were  on  the  little 
steamer  plying  down  the  Sands  river. 

I  think  I  was  wearied  out ;  for  I  remember  no  ex 
citement  or  interest  about  the  journey,  which  ought  to 
have  had  so  much  for  me.  In  a  passive  state  of  mind 
I  followed  Miss  Pinshon  from  steamei  to  station  ;  from 
one  train  of  cars  to  another;  and  saw  the  familiar 
landscape  flit  before  me  as  the  cars  whirled  us  on.  At 
Baytown  we  had  been  joined  by  a  gentleman  who  went 
with  us  all  the  rest  of  the  way  ;  and  I  began  by  degrees 
to  comprehend  that  my  governess  had  changed  her 
vocation,  and  instead  of  taking  care,  as  heretofore, 
was  going  to  be  taken  care  of.  It  did  not  interest  me 
I  saw  it,  that  was  all.  I  saw  Margaret's  delight  ion- 


EGYPTIAN  GLASS.  173 

by  every  quick  and  thoughtful  movement  that 
could  be  of  anj7  service  to  me,  and  by  a  certain  inexpres 
sible  air  of  deliverance  which  sat  on  her,  I  cannot  tell 
how,  from  her  bonnet  down  to  her  shoes.  But  her  de 
light  reminded  me  of  those  that  were  not  delivered. 

I  think,  of  all  the  crushing  griefs  that  a  young  per 
son  can  be  called  to  bear,  one  of  the  sorest  is  the  feel 
ing  of  wrong  doing  on  the  part  of  a  beloved  father  or 
mother.  I  was  sure  that  my  father,  blinded  by  old 
habit  and  bound  by  the  laws  of  the  country,  did  not  in 
the  least  degree  realize  the  true  state  of  the  matter.  I 
knew  that  the  real  colour  of  his  gold  had  never  been 
seen  by  him.  Not  the  less,  /  knew  now  that  it  was 
bloody ;  and  what  was  worse,  though  I  do  not  know 
why  it  should  be  worse,  I  knew  that  it  was  soiled.  I 
knew  that  greed  and  dishonour  were  the  two  collectors 
of  our  revenue,  and  wrong  our  agent.  Do  I  use  strong 
words?  They  are  not  too  strong  for  the  feelings 
which  constantly  bore  upon  my  heart,  nor  too  bitter ; 
though  my  childish  heart  never  put  them  into  such 
words  at  the  time.  That  my  father  did  not  know, 
saved  my  love  and  reverence  for  him ;  but  it  did  not 
change  anything  else. 

In  the  last  stage  of  our  journey,  as  we  left  a  station 
where  the  train  had  stopped,  I  noticed  a  little  book 
left  on  one  of  the  empty  seats  of  the  car.  It  lay  there 
and  nobody  touched  it ;  till  we  were  leaving  the  car 
at  Alexandria  and  almost  everybody  had  gone  out,  and 
I  saw  that  it  lay  there  still  and  nobody  would  claim  it. 
In  passing  I  took  it  up.  It  was  a  neat  little  book,  with 
gilt  edges  ;  no  name  in  it ;  and  having  its  pages  num 
bered  for  the  days  of  the  year.  And  each  page  was 
full  of  Bible  words.  It  looked  nice.  I  put  the  book 

15* 


174  DAISY. 

in  my  pocket ;  and  on  board  the  ferryboat  opened  it 
again,  and  looked  for  the  date  of  the  day  in  March 
where  we  were.  I  found  the  words  — '  He  preserv- 
eth  the  way  of  his  saints.'  They  were  the  words 
heading  the  page.  I  had  not  time  for  another  bit ; 
but  as  I  left  the  boat  this  went  into  my  heart  like 
a  cordial. 

It  was  a  damp,  dark  morning.  The  air  was  chill  as 
we  left  the  little  boat  cabin ;  the  streets  were  dirty ; 
there  was  a  confusion  of  people  seeking  carriages  or 
porters  or  baggage  or  custom  ;  then  suddenly  I  felt  as 
if  I  had  lighted  on  a  tower  of  strength,  for  Dr.  Sand- 
ford  stood  at  my  side.  A  good-humoured  sort  of  a. 
tower  he  looked  to  me,  in  his  steady,  upright  bearing  ; 
and  his  military  coat  helped  the  impression  of  that. 
[  can  see  now  his  touch  of  his  cap  to  Miss  Pinshon, 
and  then  the  quick  glance  which  took  in  Margaret  and 
me.  In  another  minute  I  had  shaken  hands  with  my 
governess,  and  was  in  a  carriage  with  Margaret  oppo 
site  me  ;  and  Dr.  Sandford  was  giving  my  baggage  in 
charge  to  somebody.  And  then  he  took  his  place 
beside  me  and  we  drove  off.  And  I  drew  a  long 
breath. 

'Punctual  to  your  time,  Daisy/  said  the  doctor. 
'  But  what  made  you  choose  such  a  time  ?  How 
much  of  yourself  have  you  left  by  the  way  ? ' 

4  Miss  Pinshon  liked  better  to  travel  all  night/  I 
said,  '  because  there  was  no  place  where  she  liked  to 
stop  to  spend  the  night.' 

'  What  was  your  opinion  on  that  subject? ' 
1 1  was  more  tired  than  she  was,  I  suppose.' 
*  Has  she  managed  things  on  the  same  system  for  the 
four  years  past  ?  ' 


EGYPTIAN  GLASS.  17 '? 

The  doctor  put  the  question  with  such  a  cool  grav 
ity,  that  I  could  not  help  laughing.  Yet  I  believe  my 
laughing  was  very  near  crying.  At  first  he  did  so  put 
rue  in  mind  of  all  that  was  about  me  when  I  used  to  see 
him  in  that  time  long  before.  And  an  inexpressible  feel 
ing  of  comfort  was  in  his  presence  now  ;  a  feeling  of  be 
ing  taken  care  of.  I  had  been  looked  after,  undoubted!}7, 
all  these  years  ;  sharply  looked  after  ;  there  was  never 
a  night  that  I  could  go  to  sleep  without  my  governess 
coming  in  to  see  that  I  was  in  my  room,  or  in  bed,  and 
my  clothes  in  order,  and  my  light  where  it  ought  to 
be.  And  my  aunt  had  not  forgotten  me,  nor  her  per 
plexities  about  me.  And  Preston  had  petted  me,  when 
he  was  near.  But  even  Preston  sometimes  lost  sight 
of  me  in  the  urgency  of  his  own  pleasure  or  business. 
There  was  a  great  difference  in  the  strong  hand  of  Dr. 
Sandford' s  care ;  and  if  you  had  ever  looked  into  his 
blue  eyes,  you  would  know  that  they  forgot  nothing. 
They  had  always  fascinated  me  ;  they  did  now. 

Mrs.  Sandford  was  not  up  when  we  got  to  the  house 
where  she  was  staying.  It  was  no  matter,  for  a  room 
was  ready  for  me  ;  and  Dr.  Sandford  had  a  nice  little 
breakfast  brought,  and  saw  me  eat  it,  just  as  if  I  were 
a  patient.  Then  he  ordered  me  to  bed,  and  charged 
Margaret  to  watch  over  me,  and  he  went  away ;  as  he 
said,  till  luncheon  time. 

I  drew  two  or  three  long  breaths  as  Margaret  was 
undressing  me  ;  I  felt  so  comfortable. 

'  Are  Miss  Pinshon  done  gone  away,  Miss  Daisy  ? 
my  handmaid  asked. 

*  From  Magnolia?  yes.' 

'  Where  she  gwine  to  ? ' 

fc  I  don't  know/ 


176  DAISY. 

4  Then  she  don't  go  no  furder  along  the  way  we're 
goin  ? ' 

4  No.  I  wonder,  Margaret,  if  they  will  have  any 
prayermeetings  in  Magnolia  now  ? '  For  with  the 
mention  of  Magnolia  my  thoughts  swept  back. 

4  Spect  the  overseer  have  his  ugly  old  way  ! '  Mar 
garet  uttered  with  great  disgust.  '  Miss  Daisy  done 
promise  me,  I  go  'long  with  Miss  Daisy  ? '  she  added 
anxiously. 

4  Yes.  But  what  makes  you  want  to  get  away  from 
home  more  than  all  the  rest  of  them  ?  ' 

'  Eeckon  I'd  done  gone  kill  myself,  spose  Miss  Daisy 
leave  me  there,'  the  girl  said  gloomily.  4  If  dey  send 
me  down  South,  I  would.' 

1  Send  you  South ! '  I  said  ;  4  they  would  not  do 
that,  Margaret.' 

4  Dere  was  man  wan  tin'  to  buy  me  —  give  mighty 
high  price  de  overseer  said.'  In  excitement  Margaret's 
tongue  sometimes  grew  thick  like  those  of  her  neigh 
bours. 

'  Mr.  Edwards  has  no  right  to  sell  anybody  away 
from  the  place,'  I  insisted,  in  mixed  unbelief  arid  hor 
ror. 

*  Dunno,'  said  Margaret.  4  Don't  make  no  differ 
ence,  Miss  Daisy.  Who  care  what  he  do?  Dere's 
Pete's  wife  — ' 

4  Pete's  wife  ? '  said  I.  4  I  didn't  know  Pete  was 
married!  What  of  Pete's  wife?' 

4  Dat  doctor  will  kill  me,  for  sure  ! '  said  Margaret 
looking  at  me.  4  Do,  don't,  Miss  Daisy  !  The  doctor 
say  you  must  go  right  to  bed,  now.  See  !  you  aint  got 
your  clothes  off.' 

4  Stop,'  said  I.     4  What  about  Pete's  wife  ? ' 


EGYPTIAN   GLASS.  177 


4 1  done  forget.  I  thought  Miss  Daisy  knowed. 
Alebbe  it's  before  Miss  Daisy  come  home.' 

'What?'  said  I.     'What?' 

4  It's  nothin',  Miss  Daisy.  '  The  overseer  he  done 
got  mad  with  Pete's  wife  and  he  sold  her  down  South, 
he  did.' 

'  Away  from  Pete  ?  '  said  I. 

'  Pete,  he's  to  de  old  place,'  said  Margaret  lacon 
ically.  '  Spect  he  forgot  all  about  it  by  dis  time. 
Miss  Daisy  please  have  her  clothes  off  and  go  to  bed  ? ' 

There  was  nothing  more  to  wait  for.  I  submitted, 
was  undressed  -  but  the  rest  and  sleep  which  had  been 
desired  were  far  out  of  reach  now.  Pete's  wife?  —  my 
good,  strong,  gentle,  and  I  remembered  always  grave, 
Pete  !  My  heart  was  on  fire  with  indignation  and  torn 
to  pieces  with  sorrow,  both  at  once.  Torn  with  the 
helpless  feeling  too  that  I  could  not  mend  the  wrong. 
I  do  not  mean  this  individual  wrong,  but  the  whole 
state  of  things  under  which  such  wrong  was  possible. 
I  was  restless  on  my  bed,  though  very  weary.  I  would 
rather  have  been  up  and  doing  something,  than  to  lie 
and  look  at  my  trouble  ;  only  that  being  there  kept  me 
out  of  the  way  of  seeing  people  and  of  talking. .  Such 
things  done  under  my  father  and  mother's  own  au 
thority,  —  on  their  own  land,  —  to  their  own  helpless 
dependants  ;  whom  yet  it  was  they  made  helpless  and 
kept  subject  to  such  possibilities.  I  turned  and  tossed, 
feeling  that  I  must  do  something,  while  yet  I  knew  I 
could  do  nothing.  Pete's  wife  !  And  where  was  she 
now  ?  And  that  was  the  secret  of  the  unvarying  grave 
shadow  that  Pete's  brow  always  wore.  And  now  that  I 
had  quitted  Magnolia,  no  human  friend  for  the  present 


178  DAISY. 

remained  to  all  that  crowd  of  poor  and  ignorant  and 
needy  humanity.  Even  their  comfort  of  prayer  for 
bidden  ;  except  such  comfort  as  each  believer  might 
take  by  himself  alone. 

I  did  not  know,  I  never  did  know  till  long  after, 
how  to  many  at  Magnolia  that  prohibition  wrought  no 
harm.  I  think  Margaret  knew,  and  even  then  did  not 
dare  tell  me.  How  the  meetings  for  prayer  were  not 
stopped.  How  watch  was  kept  on  certain  nights,  till 
all  stir  had  ceased  in  the  little  community  ;  till  lights 
were  out  in  the  overseer's  house  (and  at  the  great 
house,  while  we  were  there)  ;  and  how  then,  silently 
and  softly  from  their  several  cabins,  the  people  stole 
away  through  the  woods,  to  a  little  hill  beyond  the 
cemetery,  quite  far  out  of  hearing  or  ken  of  anybody  ; 
and  there  prayed,  and  sang  too,  and  '  praised  God  and 
shouted,'  as  my  informant  told  me  ;  not  neglecting  all 
the  while  to  keep  a  picket  watch  about  their  meeting 
place,  to  give  the  alarm  in  cas'e  anybody  should  come. 
So  under  the  soft  moonlight  skies  and  at  depth  of  night, 
the  meetings  which  I  had  supposed  broken  up,  took 
new  life,  and  grew,  and  lived ;  and  prayers  did  not 
fail ;  and  the  Lord  hearkened  and  heard. 

It  would  have  comforted  me  greatly  if  I  could  have 
known  this  at  the  time.  But  as  I  said,  I  suppose 
Margaret  dared  not  tell  me.  After  a  long  while  of 
weary  tossing  and  heart  ache,  sleep  came  at  last  to  me  ; 
but  it  brought  Pete  and  his  wife  and  the  overseer  and 
Margaret  in  new  combinations  of  trouble ;  and  I  got 
little  refreshment. 

'  Now  you  have  waked  up,  Miss  Daisy  ?  '  said  Mar 
garet  when  I  opened  my  eyes.  '  That  poundin'  noiye 
nas  done  waked  you  ! ' 


EGYPTIAN  GLASS.  179 

*  What  noise  ?  ' 

1  It's  no  Christian  noise,'  said  Margaret.  *  What's 
the  use  of  turnin'  the  house  into  a  clap  of  thunder  like 
that  ?  But  a  man  was  makin'  it  o'  purpose,  for  I  went 
out  to  see ;  and  he  telled  me  it  was  to  call  folks  to 
luncheon.  Will  you  get  up,  Miss  Daisy  ?  ' 

Margaret  spoke  as  if  she  thought  I  had  much  better 
lie  still ;  but  I  was  weary  of  the  comfort  I  had  found 
there  and  disposed  to  try  something  else.  I  had  just 
time  to  be  ready,  before  Dr.  Sand  ford  came  for  me  and 
took  me  to  his  sister-in-law.  Mrs.  Sandford  welcomed 
me  with  great  kindness,  even  tenderness  ;  exclaimed  at 
my  growth  ;  but  I  saw  by  her  glance  at  the  doctor  that 
my  appearance  in  other  respects  struck  her  unfavour 
ably.  He  made  no  answer  to  that,  but  carried  us  off 
to  the  luncheon  room. 

There  were  other  people  lodging  in  the  house  besides 
my  friends  ;  a  long  table  was  spread.  Dr.  Sandford,  I 
saw,  was  an  immense  favourite.  Questions  and  de 
mands  upon  his  attention  came  thick  and  fast,  from 
both  ends  and  all  sides  of  the  table  ;  about  all  sorts  of 
subjects  and  in  all  manner  of  tones,  grave  and  gay. 
And  he  was  at  home  to  them  all,  but  in  the  midst  of  it 
never  forgot  me.  He  took  careful  heed  to  my  luncheon  ; 
prepared  one  thing,  and  called  for  another  ;  it  reminded 
me  of  a  time  long  gone  by  ;  but  it  did  not  help  me  to 
eat.  I  could  not  eat  The  last  thing  he  did  was  to 
call  for  a  fresh  raw  egg,  and  break  it  into  a  half  glass 
of  milk.  With  this  in  his  hand  we  left  the  dining 
room.  As  soon  as  we  got  to  Mrs.  Sandford's  parlour 
he  gave  it  to  me  and  ordered  me  to  swallow  it.  I 
suppose  I  looked  dismayed. 

'  Poor  child  ! '  said  Mrs.  Sandford.     '  Let  me  have 


180  DAIS  r. 

it  beaten  up  for  her,  Grant,  with  some  sugar ;  she  can't 
take  it  so.' 

4  Daisy  has  done  harder  things,'  he  said. 

I  saw  he  expected  me  to  drink  it,  and  so  I  did,  I 
do  not  know  how. 

4  Thank  you,'  he  said  smiling  as  he  took  the  glass. 
4  Now  sit  down  and  I  will  talk  to  you.' 

4  How  she  is  growing  tall,  Grant ! '  said  Mrs.  Sand- 
ford. 

4  Yes,'  said  he.     4 Did  you  sleep  well,  Daisy?' 

4  No,  sir ;  I  couldn't  sleep.     And  then  I  dreamed.' 

4  Dreaming  is  not  a  proper  way  of  resting.  So 
tired  you  could  not  sleep?' 

4 1  do  not  think  it  was  that,  Dr.  Sandlbrd.' 

4  Do  you  know  what  it  was  ?  ' 

4 1  think  I  do,'  —  I  said,  a  little  unwillingly. 

4  She  is  getting  very  much  the  look  of  her  mother,' 
Mrs.  Sandford  remarked  again.  4  Don't  you  see  it, 
Grant?' 

4 1  see  more  than  that,'  he  answered.  4  Daisy,  do 
you  think  this  governess  of  37ours  has  been  a  good 
governess  ? ' 

I  looked  wearily  out  of  the  window,  and  cast  a  weary 
mental  look  over  the  four  years  of  algebraics  and  phi 
losophy,  at  the  bright  little  child  I  saw  at  the  further 
end  of  them. 

4 1  think  I  have  grown  dull,  Dr.  Sandford,'  I  said. 

He  came  up  behind  me  and  put  his  arms  round 
me,  taking  my  hand  in  his,  and  spoke  in  quite  a  differ 
ent  tone. 

4  Daisy,  have  you  found  many  "  wonderful  things  " 
at  Magnolia  ? ' 

I  looked  up,  I  remember,  with  the  eagerness   of  a 


EGYPTIAN  GLASS.  181 

heart  full  of  thoughts,  into  his  face  ;  but  I  could  not 
speak  then. 

'  Have  you  looked  through  a  microscope  since  you 
have  been  there  ?  and  made  discoveries  ? ' 

4  Not  in  natural  things,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

'  Ha  ! '  said  the  doctor.  '  Do  you  want  to  go  and 
take  a  drive  with  me  ? ' 

4  O  yes  ! ' 

4  Go  and  get  ready  then,  please.' 

I  had  a  very  pleasant,  quiet  drive  ;  the  doctor  shew 
ing  me,  as  he  said,  not  wonderful  things  but  new 
things,  and  taking  means  to  amuse  me.  And  every 
day  for  several  days  I  had  a  drive.  Sometimes  we 
went  to  the  country,  sometimes  got  out  and  examined 
something  in  the  city.  There  was  a  soothing  relief  in 
it  all,  and  in  the  watchful  care  taken  of  me  at  home, 
and  the  absence  of  mathematics  and  philosophy. 
All  day  when  not  driving  or  at  meals,  I  lay  on  Mrs. 
Sandford's  sofa  or  curled  myself  up  in  the  depth 
of  a  great  easy  chair,  and  turned  over  her  books ;  or 
studied  my  own  blue  book  which  I  had  picked  up  in 
the  car,  and  which  was  so  little  I  had  Margaret  make 
a  big  pocket  in  my  frock  to  hold  it.  But  this  life 
was  not  to  last.  A  few  days  was  all  Mrs.  Sandford  had 
to  spend  in  Washington. 

The  place  I  liked  best  to  go  to  was  the  Capitol. 
Several  times  Dr.  Sandford  took  me  there,  and  shewed 
me  the  various  great  rooms,  and  paintings,  and  smaller 
rooms  with  their  beautiful  adornments  ;  and  I  watched 
the  workmen  at  work ;  for  the  renewing  of  the  build 
ing  was  not  yet  finished.  As  long  as  he  had  time  to 
spare,  Dr.  Sandford  let  me  amuse  myself  as  I  would ; 
and  often  got  me  into  talks  which  refreshed  me  more 
16 


182  DAISY. 

than  anything.  Still,  though  I  was  soothed,  my  trouble 
at  heart  was  not  gone.  One  day  we  were  sitting  looking 
at  the  pictures  in  the  great  vestibule,  when  Dr.  Sand- 
ford  suddenly  started  a  subject  which  put  the  Capitol 
out  of  my  head. 

'  Daisy,'  said  he,  4  was  it  your  wish  or  Margaret's, 
that  she  should  go  North  with  you  ? ' 

4  Hers,'  I  said,  startled. 

4  Then  it  is  not  yours  particularly?' 

4  Yes  it  is,  Dr.  Sandford,  very  particularly/ 

4  How  is  that?'  said  he. 

I  hesitated.  I  shrank  from  the  whole  subject;  it 
was  so  extremely  sore  to  me. 

'  I  ought  to  warn  you,'  he  went  on,  4  that  if  you  take 
her  further,  she  may  if  she  likes  leave  you,  and  claim 
her  freedom.  That  is  the  law.  If  her  owner  takes  her 
into  the  free  States,  she  may  remain  in  them  if  she 
will,  whether  he  does  or  not.' 

I  was  silent  still,  for  the  whole  thing  choked  me.  I 
was  quite  willing  she  should  have  her  freedom,  get  it 
any  way  she  could  ;  but  there  was  my  father,  and  his 
pleasure  and  interest,  which  might  not  choose  to  lose 
a  piece  of  his  property  —  and  my  mother  and  her  inter 
est  and  pleasure  ;  I  knew  what  both  would  be.  I  was 
dumb. 

'You  had  not  thought  of  this  before?'  the  doctor 
went  on. 

4  No,  sir/ 

4  Does  it  not  change  your  mind  about  taking  her  on  ? ' 

4  No,  sir.' 

4  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,  or  rather,  does  it  not  occur 
to  you  now,  that  the  girl's  design  in  coming  may  have 
been  this  very  purpose  of  her  freedom  ? ' 


EGYPTIAN   d LASS.  183 

'  I  do  not  think  it  was,'  I  said. 

4  Even  if  not,  it  will  be  surely  put  in  her  head  by 
other  people  before  she  has  been  at  the  North  long  ;  and 
she  will  know  that  she  is  her  own  mistress.' 

I  was  silent  still.     I  knew  that  I  wished  she  might ! 

1  Do  you  not  think,'  Dr.  Sandford  went  on,  '  that  in 
this  view  of  the  case  we  had  better  send  her  back  to 
Magnolia  when  you  leave  Washington  ?  * 

4  No,'  I  said. 

*  I  think  it  would  be  better,'  he  repeated. 

4  O  no ! '  I  said.  4  O  no,  Dr.  Sandford.  I  can't  send 
her  back.  You  will  not  send  her  back,  will  you  ?  ' 

*  Be  quiet,'  he  said,  holding  fast  the  hand  which  in 
my  earnestness  I  had  put  in  his  ;  4  she  is  not  my  ser 
vant  ;    she   is  yours ;    it  is  for  you  to  say  what  you 
will  do.' 

4 1  will  not  send  her  back,'  I  said. 

4  But  it  may  be  right  to  consider  what  would  be  Mr. 
Randolph's  wish  on  the  subject.  If  you  take  her,  he 
may  lose  several  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  property  ;  it 
is  right  for  me  to  warn  you ;  would  he  choose  to  run 
the  risk/ 

I  remember  now  what  a  fire  at  my  heart  sent  the  blood 
to  my  face.  But  with  my  hand  in  Dr.  Sandford's,  and 
those  blue  eyes  of  his  reading  me,  I  could  not  keep 
back  my  thought. 

4  She  ought  to  be  her  own  mistress '  —  I  said. 

A  brilliant  flash  of  expression  filled  the  blue  eyes  and 
crossed  his  face.  I  could  hardly  tell  what,  before  it 
was  gone.  Quick  surprise  —  pleasure?  —  amusement 
—  agreement ;  the  first  and  the  two  last  certainly  ;  and 
the  pleasure  I  could  not  help  fancying  had  lent  its  col- 


184  DAISY. 

our  to  that  ray  of  light,  which  had  shot  for  one  instant 
from  those  impenetrable  eyes.  He  spoke  just  as  usual. 

4  But  Daisy,  have  you  studied  this  question?' 

4 1  think,  I  have  studied  nothing  else,  Dr.  Sandford  ! ' 

4  You  know  the  girl  is  not  yours,  but  your  father's.' 

4  She  isn't  anybody's  — '  I  said  slowly,  and  with 
slow  tears  gathering  in  my  heart.  • 

4  How  do  you  mean  ? '  said  he,  with  again  the  quiver 
of  a  smile  upon  his  lips. 

4 1  mean/  I  said,  struggling  with  my  thoughts  and 
myself,  4 1  mean,  that  nobody  could  have  a  right  to  her.' 

4  Did  not  her  parents  belong  to  your  father? ' 

4  To  my  mother/ 

4  Then  she  does.' 

4  But,  Dr.  Sandford,'  I  said,  4  nobody  can  belong  to 
anybody  —  in  that  way.' 

4  How  do  you  make  it  out,  Daisy  ?  * 

4  Because,  nobody  can  give  anybody  a  right  to  any 
body  else  —  in  that  way.' 

4  Does  it  not  give  your  mother  a  right,  that  the  moth 
er  of  this  girl  and  probably  her  grandmother  were  the 
property  of  your  ancestors  ? ' 

4  They  could  not  be  their  property  justly,'  I  said, 
glad  to  get  back  to  my  ancestors. 

4  The  law  made  it  so.' 

4  Not  God's  law,  Dr.  Sandford,'  I  said  looking  up  at 
him. 

4  No  ?  Does  not  that  Law  give  a  man  a  right  to  what 
he  has  honestly  bought  ?  ' 

4  No,'  I  said,  '  it  can't  —  not  if  it  has  been  dishon 
estly  sold.' 

4  Explain,  Daisy,'  said  Dr.  Sandford  very  quietly ; 
but  I  saw  the  gleam  of  that  light  in  his  eye  again.  I 


EGYPTIAN  GLASS.  185 

had  gone  too  far  to  stop.  I  went  on,  ready  to  break 
my  heart  over  the  right  and  the  wrong  I  was  separating. 

4  I  mean,  the  first  people  that  sold  the  first  of  these 
coloured  people,  — '  I  said. 

4  Well  ? '  said  the  doctor. 

'  They  could  not  have  a  right  to  sell  them.' 

4  Yes.     Well?' 

4  Then  the  people  that  bought  them  could  not  have  a 
right,  any  more/  I  said. 

4  But  Daisy,'  said  Dr.  Sandford,  4  do  you  know  that 
there  are  different  opinions  on  this  very  point?  ' 

I  was  silent.     It  made  no  difference  to  me. 

1  Suppose  for  the  moment  that  the  first  people,  as 
you  say,  had  no  precise  right  to  sell  the  men  and  women 
they  brought  to  this  country ;  yet  those  who  bought 
them  and  paid  honest  money  for  them,  and  possessed 
them  from  generation  to  generation,  —  had  not  they  a 
right  to  pass  them  off  upon  other  hands,  receiving  their 
money  back  again  ? ' 

4  I  don't  know  how  to  explain  it/  I  said.  '  I  mean 
—  if  at  first  —  Dr.  Sandford,  hadn't  the  people  that 
were  sold,  hadn't  they  rights  too?' 

4  Rights  of  what  sort?' 

4  A  right  to  do  what  they  liked  with  themselves,  and 
to  earn  money,  and  to  keep  their  wives  ? ' 

4  But  those  rights  were  lost,  you  know,  Daisy.' 

4  But  could  they  be/  I  said.  4 1  mean  —  Dr.  Sand- 
ford,  for  instance  ;  suppose  somebody  stole  your  watch 
from  you  ;  would  you  lose  the  right  to  it  ? ' 

4  It  seems  to  me  that  I  should  not,  Daisy.' 

4  That  is  what  I  mean/  I  said. 

fc  But  there  is  another  view  of  the  case,  Daisy.  Take 
Margaret,  for  instance.  From  the  time  she  was  a 

16* 


186  DA^SY. 

child,  your  father's,  or  your  mother's,  money  has  gone 
to  support  her ;  her  food  and  clothing  and  living  have 
been  wholly  at  their  expense.  Does  not  that  give 
them  a  right  to  her  services?  ought  they  not  to  be 
repaid  ? ' 

I  did  not  want  to  speak  of  my  father  and  mother 
and  Margaret.  It  was  coming  too  near  home.  I  knew 
the  food  and  clothing  Dr.  Sandford  spoke  of;  I  knew 
a  very  few  months  of  a  northern  servant's  wages  would 
have  paid  for  it  all ;  was  this  girl's  whole  life  to  be 
taken  from  her,  and  by  my  father  and  mother,  and  for 
such  a  cause?  The  feeling  of  grief  and  wrong  and 
shame  got  possession  of  me.  I  was  ready  to  break  my 
heart  in  tears ;  but  I  could  not  shew  Dr.  Sandford 
what  I  felt,  nor  confess  to  what  I  thought  of  my 
father's  action.  I  had  the  greatest  struggle  with 
myself  not  to  give  wa}'  and  cry.  I  was  very  weak 
bodity,  but  I  know  1  stood  still  and  did  not  shed  a 
tear ;  till  I  felt  Dr.  Sandford's  hands  take  hold  of  me. 
They  put  me  gently  back  in  the  chair  from  which  I  had 
risen. 

'  What  is  the  matter,  Daisy?'  he  said. 

I  would  not  speak,  and  he  did  not  urge  it ;  but  I 
saw  that  he  watched  me,  till  I  gained  command  of 
myself  again. 

'  Shall  we  go  home  now?'  he  asked. 

'  In  a  minute.  Dr.  Sandford,  I  do  not  think  papa 
knows  about  all  this  —  I  do  not  think  he  knows  about 
it  as  I  do.  I  am  sure  he  does  not;  and  when  he 
knows,  he  will  think  as  I  do.' 

4  Or  perhaps  you  will  think  as  he  does/ 

I  was  silent.     I  wondered  if  that  could  be  possible, 


EGYPTIAN   GLASS.  187 

if  I  too  could  have  my  eyes  blinded  as  I  saw  other 
people's  were. 

'  Little  Daisy,'  said  my  friend  the  doctor,  — 4  but 
you  are  getting  to  be  not  little  Daisy.  How  old  are 
you?' 

4 1  shall  be  fourteen  in  June/ 

4  Fourteen.  "Well,  it  is  no  wonder  that  my  friend 
whom  I  left  a  philosopher  at  ten  years  old,  I  should 
find  a  woman  at  fourteen  —  but  Daisy,  you  must  not 
take  it  on  }rour  heart  that  you  have  to  teach  all  the 
ignorant  and  help  all  the  distressed  that  come  in  your 
way ;  because  simply  you  cannot  do  it.' 

I  looked  up  at  him.  I  could  not  tell  him  what  I 
thought,  because  he  would  not,  I  feared,  understand  it. 
Christ  came  to  do  just  such  work,  and  his  servants 
must  have  it  on  their  heart  to  do  the  same.  I  cannot 
tell  what  was  in  my  look ;  but  I  thought  the  doctor's 
face  changed. 

1  One  Molty  Skelton  will  do  for  one  four  years,'  he 
said  as  he  rose  up.  '  Come,  Daisy.' 

'  But  Dr.  Sandford,'  I  said  as  I  followed  him,  'you 
will  not  do  anything  about  sending  Margaret  back?' 

1  Nothing,  till  you  do,  Daisy.' 

Arrived  at  home,  the  doctor  made  me  drink  a  raw 
egg,  and  lie  down  on  Mrs.  Sandford's  sofa ;  and  he  sat 
down  and  looked  at  me. 

'  You  are  the  most  troublesome  patient  that  ever  I 
had,'  said  he. 

*  I  am  ! '  I  exclaimed. 

k  Yes.  Quite  innocently.  You  cannot  help  it,  Daisy  ; 
and  you  need  not  be  troubled  about  it.  It  is  all  in 
the  way  of  my  profession.  It  is  as  if  a  delicate  vessel 
of  Egyptian  glass  were  put  to  do  the  work  of  an  iron 


188  DAISY. 

smelting  furnace ;  and  I  have  to  think  of  all  the  possi 
ble  bands  and  hardening  appliances  that  can  be 
brought  into  use  for  the  occasion.' 

1 1  do  not  understand  — '  I  said. 

'  No.     I  suppose  not.    That  is  the  worst  of  it.' 

4  But  why  am  I  an  Egyptian  glass  ?  *  I  asked.  '  I 
am  not  very  old/ 

The  doctor  gave  me  one  of  those  quick,  bright 
glances  and  smiles,  that  were  very  pleasant  to  get 
from  him  and  not  very  common.  There  came  a  sort 
of  glow  and  sparkle  in  his  blue  eye  then,  and  a  won 
derful  winsome  and  gracious  trick  of  the  lips. 

4  It  is  a  vety  doubtful  sort  of  a  compliment/  said 
Mrs.  Sandford. 

4 1  did  not  mean  it  for  a  compliment  at  all,'  said  the 
doctor. 

4  I  don't  believe  you  did,'  said  his  sister ;  4  but  what 
did  you  mean  ?  Grant,  I  should  like  to  hear  you  pay 
a  compliment  for  once.' 

i  You  do  not  know  Egyptian  glass,'  said  the  doctor. 

4  No.     What  was  it?' 

1  Very  curious.' 

*  Didn't  I  say  that  you  couldn't  pay  compliments  ? ' 
said  Mrs.  Sandford. 

4  And  unlike  any  that  is  made  now-a-days.  There 
were  curious  patterns  wrought  in  the  glass,  made,  it  is 
supposed,  by  the  fusing  together  of  rods  of  glass,  ex 
tremely  minute,  of  different  colours  ;  so  that  the  pattern 
once  formed  was  ineffaceable  and  indestructible,  unless 
by  the  destruction  of  the  -vessel  which  contained  it. 
Sometimes  a  layer  of  gold  ^as  introduced  between  the 
layers  of  glass.' 

4  How  very  curious  ! '  said  Mrs.  Sandford. 


EGYPTIAN  GLASS.  189 

1 1  think  I  must  take  you  into  consultation,  Daisy,' 
the  doctor  went  on,  turning  to  me.  '  It  is  found^  that 
there  must  be  a  little  delay  before  you  can  go  up  to 
take  a  look  at  Melbourne.  Mrs.  Sandford  is  obliged 
to  stop  in  New  York  with  a  sick  sister ;  how  long  she 
may  be  kept  there  it  is  impossible  to  say.  Now  you 
would  have  a  dull  time,  I  am  afraid  ;  and  I  am  in  doubt 
whether  it  would  not  be  pleasanter  for  you  to  enter 
school  at  once.  In  about  three  months  the  school  term 
will  end  and  the  summer  vacation  begin  ;  by  that  time 
Mrs.  Sandford  will  be  at  home  and  the  country  ready  to 
receive  you.  But  you  shall  do  whichever  you  like  best.' 

4  Mrs.  Sandford  will  be  in  New  York?'  I  said. 

1  Yes.' 

4  And  I  would  see  you  constantly,  dear,  and  have 
you  with  me  all  the  Saturdays  and  Sundays  and  holi 
days.  And  if  you  like  it  better,  you  shall  be  with  me 
all  the  time ;  only  I  should  be  obliged  to  leave  you 
alone  too  much.' 

'How  long  does  the  summer  vacation  last? 'I  in 
quired. 

'  Till  some  time  in  September.  You  can  enter  school 
now,  or  then,  as  you  choose.' 

I  thought  and  hesitated,  and  said  I  would  enter  at 
once.  Dr.  Sandford  said  I  was  not  fit  for  it,  but  it 
was  on  the  whole  the  best  plan.  So  it  was  arranged ; 
that  I  should  just  wait  a  day  or  two  in  New  York  to 
get  my  wardrobe  in  order  and  then  begin  my  school 
experience. 

But  my  thoughts  went  back  afterwards,  more  than 
once,  to  the  former  conversation ;  and  I  wondered  what 
it  was  about  me  that  made  Dr.  Sandford  liken  me  to 
Egyptian  glass. 


190  BA18T. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SHOPPING. 

IT  was  settled  that  I  should  wait  a  day  or  two  in 
New  York  to  get  my  wardrobe  arranged,  and  then 
begin  my  school  experience.  But  when  we  got  to  New 
York,  we  found  Mrs.  Sandford's  sister  so  ill  as  to 
claim  her  whole  time.  There  was  none  to  spare  for 
me  and  my  wardrobe.  Mrs.  Sandford  said  I  must 
attend  to  it  myself  as  well  as  I  could,  and  the  doctor 
would  go  with  me.  He  was  off  duty,  he  reported,  and 
at  leisure  for  ladies'  affairs.  Mrs.  Sandford  told  me 
what  I  would  need.  A  warm  school  dress,  she  said  ; 
for  the  days  would  be  often  cold  in  this  latitude  until 
May,  and  even  later ;  and  schoolrooms  not  always 
warm.  A  warm  dress  for  every  day  was  the  first 
thing.  A  fine  merino,  Mrs.  Sandford  said,  would  be, 
she  thought,  what  my  mother  would  choose.  I  had 
silks  which  might  be  warm  enough  for  other  occasions. 
Then  I  must  have  a  thick  coat  or  cloak.  Long  coats, 
with  sleeves,  were  fashionable  then,  she  told  me ;  the 
doctor  would  take  me  where  I  wou'd  find  plenty  to 
choose  from.  And  I  needed  a  hat,  or  a  bonnet.  Un 
less,  Mrs.  Sandford  said,  I  chose  to  wear  my  riding 
cap  with  the  feather ;  that  was  warm,  and  very  pretty, 
and  would  do. 

How  much  would  it  all  cost?  I  asked.     Mrs.  Sand- 


SHOPPING.  191 

ford  made  a  rapid  calculation.  The  merino  would  be 
two  dollars  a  yard,  she  said ;  the  coat  might  be  got  for 
thirty-five  or  thereabouts  sufficiently  good  ;  the  hat  was 
entirely  what  I  chose  to  make  it.  '  But  you  know,  my 
dear/  Mrs.  Sandford  said,  '  the  sort  of  quality  and 
style  your  mother  likes,  and  you  will  be  guided  by 
that/ 

Must  I  be  guided  by  that? —  I  questioned  with  my 
self.  Yes,  I  knew.  I  knew  very  well ;  but  I  had  other 
things  to  think  of.  I  pondered.  While  I  was  ponder 
ing,  Dr.  Sandford  was  quietly  opening  his  pocket- 
book  and  unfolding  a  roll  of  bills.  He  put  a  number 
of  them  into  my  hand. 

'That  will  cover  it  all,  Daisy,'  he  said.  4It  is 
money  your  father  has  made  over  to  my  keeping,  for 
this  and  similar  purposes/ 

4  O  thank  you  ! '  I  said  breathless  ;  and  then  I  counted 
the  bills.  4  O  thank  you,  Dr.  Sandford !  but  may  I 
spend  all  this  ? ' 

4  Certainly.  Mr.  Randolph  desired  it  should  go,  this 
and  more  of  it,  to  your  expenses,  of  whatever  kind. 
This  covers  my  sister's  estimate,  and  leaves  something 
for  your  pocket  besides.' 

*  And  when  shall  we  go  ? '  I  asked. 

4  To  spend  it  ?  Now,  if  you  like.  Why  Daisy,  I  did 
now  know  — ' 

'  What,  sir?'  I  said  as  he  paused. 

'  Really,  nothing,'  he  said  smiling.  '  Somehow  I 
had  not  fancied  that  you  shared  the  passion  of  your 
sex  for  what  they  call  shopping.  You  are  all  alike,  in 
some  things.' 

4  T  like  it  very  much  to-day,'  I  said. 

4  It  would  be  safe,  for  you  to  keep  Daisy's  money  in 


\92  DAISY. 

your  own  pocket,  Grant/  Mrs.  Sandford  said.  '  It  will 
be  stolen  from  her,  certainly/ 

The  doctor  smiled  and  stretched  out  his  hand  ;  I  put 
the  bills  into  it ;  and  away  we  went.  My  head  was 
very  busy.  I  knew,  as  Mrs.  Sandford  said,  the  sort 
and  style  of  purchases  my  mother  would  make  and  ap 
prove  ;  but  then  on  the  other  hand  the  remembrance 
was  burnt  into  me,  whence  that  money  came  which  I 
was  expected  to  spend  so  freely,  and  what  other  uses 
and  calls  for  it  there  were,  even  in  the  case  of  those 
very  people  whose  hands  had  earned  it  for  us.  Not  to 
go  further  ;  Margaret's  wardrobe  needed  refitting  quite 
as  much  as  mine.  She  was  quite  as  unaccustomed  as 
I  to  the  chills  and  blasts  of  a  cold  climate,  and  full  as 
unfurnished  to  meet  them.  I  had  seen  her  draw  her 
thin  checked  shawl  around  her,  when  I  knew  it  was 
not  enough  to  save  her  from  the  weather,  and  that  she 
had  no  more.  And  her  gowns,  of  thin  cotton  stuff, 
such  as  she  wore  about  her  housework  at  Magnolia, 
were  a  bare  provision  a'gainst  the  nipping  bite  of  the 
air  here  at  the  North.  Yet  nobody  spoke  of  any  addi 
tion  to  her  stock  of  clothes.  It  was  on  my  heart  alone. 
But  now  it  was  in  my  hand  too,  and  I  felt  very  glad  ; 
though  just  how  to  manage  Dr.  Sandford  I  did  not 
know.  I  thought  a  great  deal  about  the  whole  matter 
as  we  went  through  the  streets  ;  as  I  had  also  thought 
long  before ;  and  my  mind  was  clear,  that  while  so 
many  whom  I  knew  needed  the  money,  or  while  any 
whom  I  knew  needed  it,  I  would  spend  no  useless  dol 
lars  upon  myself.  How  should  I  manage  Dr.  Sandford  ? 
There  he  was,  my  cash-keeper ;  and  I  had  not  the  least 
wish  to  unfold  my  plans  to  him. 

4 1  suppose  the  dress  is  the  first  thing,  Daisy/  he 


SHOPPING.  193 

said,  as  we  entered  the  great  establishment  where 
everything  was  to  be  had ;  and  he  inquired  for  the 
counter  where  we  should  find  merinos.  I  had  no  objec 
tion  ready. 

'What  colour,  Daisy?* 

4 1  want  something  dark — • ' 

4  Something  dark  and  bright/  said  the  doctor,  seat 
ing  himself.  4  And  tine  quality.  Not  green,  Daisy,  if 
I  might  advise.  It  is  too  cold.' 

'  Cold  ! '  said  I. 

'  For  this  season.  It  is  a  very  nice  colour  in  sum 
mer,  Daisy,'  he  said  smiling. 

And  he  looked  on  in  a  kind  of  amused  way,  while 
the  clerk  of  the  merinos  and  I  confronted  each  other. 
There  was  displayed  now  before  me  a  piece  of  claret- 
coloured  stuff;  '  dark  and  bright ; '  a  beautiful  tint,  and 
a  very  beautiful  piece  of  goods.  I  knew  enough  of  the 
matter  to  know  that.  Fine  and  thick  and  lustrous,  it 
just  suited  my  fancy;  I  knew  it  was  just  what  my 
mother  would  buy ;  I  saw  Dr.  Sandford's  eye  watch 
me  in  its  amusement  with  a  glance  of  expectation. 
But  the  stuff  was  two  dollars  and  a  quarter  a  yard. 
Yes,  it  suited  me  exactly  ;  but  what  was  to  become  of 
others  if  I  were  covered  so  luxuriously?  Arid  how 
could  I  save  money  if  I  spent  it?  It  was  hard  to 
speak,  too,  before  that  shopman,  who  held  the  merino 
in  his  hand  expecting  me  to  say  I  would  take  it ;  but  I 
had  no  way  to  escape  that  trouble.  I  turned  from  the 
rich  folds  of  claret  stuff,  to  the  doctor  at  my  side. 

4  Dr.  Sandford,  '  I  said,  '  I  want  to  get  something 
that  will  not  cost  so  much. 

'  Does  it  not  please  you  ? '  he  asked. 
17 


194  DAISY. 

4  Yes  ;  I  like  it ;  but  I  want  some  stuff  that  will  not 
cost  so  much.' 

4  This  is  not  far  above  my  sister's  estimate,  Dais}^.' 

<  No  —  'I  said. 

4  And  the  difference  is  a  trifle  —  if  you  like  the 
piece.' 

4 1  like  it,'  I  said  ;  4  but  it  is  very  much  above  my  es 
timate.' 

4  You  had  one  of  your  own  ! '  said  the  doctor.  4  Do 
you  like  something  else  here  better?  —  or  what  is  your 
estimate,  Daisy?' 

4 1  do  not  want  a  poor  merino,'  I  said.  4I  would 
rather  get  some  other  stuff — if  I  can.  I  do  not  want 
to  give  more  than  a  dollar.' 

4  The  young  lady  may  find  what  will  suit  her  at  the 
plaid  counter,'  said  the  shopman,  letting  fall  the  rich 
drapery  he  had  been  holding  up.  — 4  Just  round  that  cor 
ner,  sir,  to  the  left.' 

Dr.  Sandford  led  the  way  and  I  followed.  There 
certainly  I  found  a  plenty  of  warm  stuffs,  in  various  pat 
terns  and  colours,  and  with  prices  as  various.  But 
nothing  to  match  the  grave  elegance  of  those  claret 
folds.  It  was  coming  down  a  step,  to  leave-  that 
counter  for  this.  I  knew  it  perfectly  well ;  while  1 
sought  out  the  simplest  and  prettiest  dark  small  plaid 
I  could  find. 

4  Do  you  like  these  things  better  ? '  the  doctor  asked 
me  privately. 

4  No,  sir,'  I  said. 

4  Then  why  come  here,  Daisy?  Pardon  me,  may  I 
ask?' 

4 1  have  other  things  to  get,  Dr.  Sandford/  I  said 
low. 


SHOPPING.  195 

'But,  Daisy  ! '  said  the  doctor,  rousing  up,  —  *  I  haye 
peformed  my  part  ill.  You  are  not  restricted  —  your 
father  has  not  restricted  you.  I  am  your  banker  for 
whatever  sums  you  may  need  — for  whatever  purposes/ 

'  Yes/  I  said  ;  '  I  know.  O  no,  I  know  papa  has  not 
restricted  }TOU  ;  but  I  think  I  ought  not  to  spend  any 
more.  It  is  my  own  affair.' 

4  And  not  mine.     Pardon  me,  Daisy  ;  I  submit/ 

'  Please,  Dr.  Sandford,  don't  speak  so  ! '  I  said.  4 1 
don't  mean  that.  I  mean,  it  is  my  own  affair  and  not 
papa's/ 

*  Certainly,  I  have  no  more  to  say,'  said  the  doctor 
smiling. 

4 1  will  tell  you  about  it,'  —  I  said  ;  and  then  I  desired 
the  shopman  to  cut  off  the  dress  I  had  flxed  upon  ;  and 
we  went  up  stairs  to  look  for  cloaks  ;  I  feeling  hot  and 
confused  and  half  perplexed.  I  had  never  worn  such 
a  dress  as  this  plaid  I  had  bought,  in  my  life.  It  was 
nice  and  good,  and  pretty  too  ;  but  it  did  not  match  the 
quality  or  the  elegance  of  the  things  my  mother  always 
had  got  for  me.  She  would  not  have  liked  it  nor  let 
me  wear  it ;  I  knew  that ;  but  then  —  whence  came  the 
wealth  that  flowed  over  in  such  exquisite  forms  upon 
her  and  upon  me?  were  not  its  original  and  proper 
channels  bare?  And  whence  were  they  to  be,  even 
in  any  measure,  refilled,  if  all  the  supply  must, 
as  usual,  be  led  off  in  other  directions?  I  mused  as  I 
went  up  the  stair,  feeling  perplexed  nevertheless  at  the 
strangeness  of  the  work  I  was  doing,  and  with  some 
thing  in  my  heart  giving  a  pull  to  my  judgment  to 
wards  the  side  of  what  was  undoubtedly  '  pleasant  to 
the  eyes/  So  I  followed  Dr.  Sandford  up  the  stair 
and  into  tne  wilderness  of  the  cloak  department ;  where 


-96  DAISY 

all  manner  of  elegancies,  in  silk  and  velvet  and  cloth, 
were  displayed  in  orderly  confusion.  It  was  a  wilder 
ness  to  me,  in  the  mood  of  my  thoughts.  Was  I  going 
to  repeat  here  the  process  just  gone  through  down  stairs  ? 

The  doctor  seated  me,  asked  what  I  wanted  to  see, 
and  gave  the  order.  And  forthwith  my  e}-es  were  re 
galed  with  a  variety  of  temptations.  A  nice  little 
black  silk  pelisse  was  hung  on  the  stand  opposite  me  ; 
it  was  nice  ;  a  good  gloss  was  upon  the  silk,  the  article 
was  in  the  neatest  style,  and  trimmed  with  great  sim 
plicity.  I  would  have  been  well  satisfied  to  wear  that. 
By  its  side  was  displayed  another  of  velvet ;  then  }ret 
another  of  very  fine  dark  cloth ;  perfect  in  material 
and  make,  faultless  in  its  elegance  of  finish.  But  the 
silk  was  forty-five,  and  the  cloth  was  forty,  and  the 
velvet  was  sixty  dollars.  I  sat  and  looked  at  them. 
There  is  no  denying  that  I  wanted  the  silk  or  the  cloth. 
Either  of  them  would  do.  Either  of  them  was  utterly 
girl-like  and  plain,  but  both  of  them  had  the  finish  of 
perfection,  in  make,  style,  and  material.  I  wanted  the 
one  or  the  other.  But,  if  J[  had  it,  what  would  be  left 
for  Margaret  ? 

c  Are  you  tired,  Daisy?'  said  Dr.  Sandford,  bending 
down  to  look  in  my  face. 

4  No,  sir.  At  least,  that  is  not  what  I  was  thinking 
of/ 

«  What  then  ? '  said  he.     *  Will  one  of  these  do  ? ' 

4 They  would  do/  I  said  slowly.  'But,  Dr.  Sand- 
ford,  I  should  like  to  see  something  else  —  something 
that  would  do  for  somebody  that  was  poorer  than  I.' 

4  Poorer?  '  said  the  doctor  looking  funny.  '  What  is 
the  matter,  Daisy?  Have  you  suddenly  become  bank 
rupt?  You  need  not  be  afraid,  for  the  bank  is  in  ray 


SHOPPING :  197 

pocket ;   and  I  know  it  will  stand  all  your  demands 
upon  it.' 

I  No,  but — I  would  indeed,  if  you  please,  Dr.  Sand- 
ford.     These  things  cost  too  much  for  what  I  want 
now/ 

'Do  you  like  them?' 

I 1  like  them  very  well.' 

'Then  take  one,  whichever  you  like  best.  That  is 
my  advice  to  you,  Daisy.  The  bank  will  bear  it.' 

'  I  think  I  must  not.  Please,  Dr.  Sandford,  I  should 
like  to  see  something  that  would  not  cost  so  much. 
Do  they  all  cost  as  much  as  these  ? ' 

The  doctor  gave  the  order,  as  I  desired.  The  shop 
man  who  was  serving  us  cast  another  comprehensive 
glance  at  me  —  I  had  seen  him  give  one  at  the  begin 
ning —  and  tossing  off  the  velvet  coat  and  twisting  off 
the  silk  one,  he  walked  away.  Presently  came  back 
with  a  brown  silk  which  he  hung  in  the  place  of  the 
velvet  one  and  a  blue  cloth  which  replaced  the  black 
silk.  Every  whit  as  costly,  and  almost  as  pretty,  both 
of  them. 

'No,'  said  the  doctor,  —  'you  mistook  me.  We 
want  to  look  at  some  goods  fitted  for  persons  who 
have  not  long  purses.' 

'  Something  inferior  to  these  — '  said  the  man.  He 
was  not  uncivil ;  he  just  stated  the  fact.  In  accordance 
with  which  he  replaced  the  last  two  coats  with  a  little 
grey  dreadnought,  and  a  black  cloth  ;  the  first  neat  and 
rough,  the  last  not  to  be  looked  at.  It  was  not  in 
good  taste,  and  a  sort  of  thing  that  I  neither  had  worn 
nor  could  wear.  But  the  grey  dreadnought  was  simple 
and  warm  and  neat,  and  would  offend  nobody.  I 
looked  from  it  to  the  pretty  black  cloth  which  still 
17* 


198  DAISY. 

hung  opposed  to  it,  the  one  of  the  first  two.  Certainly, 
in  style  and  elegance  this  looked  like  my  mother's  child, 
and  the  other  did  not.  Bat  this  was  forty  dollars. 
The  dreadnought  was  exactly  half  that  sum.  I  had  a 
little  debate  with  myself — I  remember  it,  for  it  was 
my  first  experience  of  that  kind  of  thing  —  and  all  my 
mother's  training  had  refined  in  me  the  sense  of  what 
was  elegant  and  fitting,  in  dress  as  well  as  in  other 
matters.  Until  now,  I  had  never  had  my  fancy  crossed 
by  anything  I  ever  had  to  wear.  The  little  grey  dread 
nought  —  how  would  it  go  with  my  silk  dresses  ?  It 
was  like  what  I  had  seen  other  people  dressed  in  ;  never 
my  mother  or  me.  Yet  it  was  perfectly  fitting  a  lady's 
child,  if  she  could  not  afford  other ;  and  where  was 
Margaret's  cloak  to  come  from?  And  who  had  the 
best  right?  I  pondered  and  debated,  and  then  I  told 
Dr.  Sandford  I  would  have  the  grey  coat.  I  believe  I 
half  wished  he  would  make  some  objection  ;  but  he  did 
not ;  he  paid  for  the  dreadnought  and  ordered  it  sent 
home ;  and  then  I  began  to  congratulate  myself  that 
Margaret's  comfort  was  secure. 

'Is  that  all,  Daisy?'  my  friend  asked. 

4  Dr.  Sandford,'  said  I,  standing  up  and  speaking 
low,  *  I  want  to  find  —  can  I  find  here,  do  you  think  ? 
—  a  good  warm  cloak  and  dress  for  Margaret.' 

*  For  Margaret ! '  said  the  doctor. 

4  Yes  ;  she  is  not  used  to  the  cold,  you  know ;  and 
she  has  nothing  to  keep  her  comfortable.' 

4  But  Dais}^ ! '  said  the  doctor,  — '  Sit  down  here 
again  ;  I  must  understand  this.  Was  Margaret  at  the 
bottom  of  all  these  financial  operations  ? ' 

4 1  knew  she  wanted  something,  ever  since  we  came 
from  Washington,'  I  said. 


SHOPPING.  199 

*  Daisy,  she  could  have  had  it.' 

4  Yes,  Dr.  Sandford  ;  —  but  — ' 

1  But  what,  if  you  will  be  so  good?' 

4  I  think  it  was  right  for  me  to  get  it.' 

4  I  am  sorry  I  do  not  agree  with  you  at  all.  It  was 
for  me  to  get  it  —  I  am  supplied  with  funds,  Daisy  — 
and  3rour  father  has  entrusted  to  me  the  making  of  all 
arrangements  which  are  in  any  way  good  for  your 
comfort.  I  think,  with  your  leave,  I  shall  reverse 
these  bargains.  Have  you  been  all  this  time  pleasing 
Margaret  and  not  yourself  ?  ' 

4  No,  sir,'  I  said,  — 4  if  you  please.  I  cannot  ex 
plain  it,  Dr.  Sandford  ;  but  I  know  it  is  right.' 

4  What  is  right,  Daisy  ?     My  faculties  are  stupid.' 

4  No,  sir ;  but  —  Let  it  be  as  it  is,  please.' 

4  But  won't  you  explain  it  ?  I  ought  to  know  what 
I  am  giving  my  consent  to,  Daisy  ;  for  just  now  I  am 
constituted  your  guardian.  What  has  Margaret  to  do 
with  your  cloaks  ?  There  is  enough  for  both.' 

4  But,'  said  I,  in  a  great  deal  of  difficulty,  — '  there  is 
not  enough  for  me  and  everybody.' 

4  Are  you  going  to  take  care  of  the  wants  of  every 
body?' 

4 1  think  —  I  ought  to  take  care  of  all  that  I  can,' 
I  said. 

4  But  you  have  not  the  power.' 

4 1  won't  do  but  what  I  have  the  power  for.' 

4  Daisy,  what  would  your  father  and  mother  say  to 
such  a  course  of  action  ?  would  they  allow  it,  do  you 
think?' 

4  But  you  are  my  guardian  now,  Dr.  Sandford,'  I 
said,  looking  up  at  him.  He  paused  a  minute  doubt 
fully. 


200  DAISY. 

'  I  am  conquered  ! '  be  said.  '  You  have  absolutely 
conquered  me,  Daisy.  I  have  not  a  word  to  say.  I 
wonder  if  that  is  the  way  you  are  going  through  the 
world  in  future  ?  What  is  it  now  about  Margaret  ?  — 
for  I  was  bewildered  and  did  not  understand.' 

'  A  warm  cloak  and  dress/  I  said  delighted  ;  '  that  is 
what  I  want.  Can  I  get  them  here  ?  ' 

4  Doubtful,  I  should  say/  the  doctor  answered  ;  '  but 
we  will  try.' 

And  we  did  succeed  in  finding  the  dress,  strong  and 
warm  and  suitable  ;  the  cloak  we  had  to  go  to  another 
shop  for.  On  the  way  we  stopped  at  the  milliner's. 
My  aunt  Gary  and  Mrs.  Sandford  employed  the  same 
one. 

'  I  put  it  in  your  hands,  Daisy  ! '  Dr.  Sandford  said, 
as  we  went  in.  '  Only  let  me  look  on.' 

I  kept  him  waiting  a  good  while,  I  am  afraid ;  but 
he  was  very  patient  and  seemed  amused.  /  was  not. 
The  business  was  very  troublesome  to  me.  This  was 
not  so  easy  a  matter  as  to  choose  between  stuffs  and 
have  the  yards  measured  off.  Bonnets  are  bonnets,  as 
my  aunt  always  said ;  and  things  good  in  themselves 
may  not  be  in  the  least  good  for  you.  And  I  found 
the  thing  that  suited  was  even  more  tempting  here  than 
it  had  been  in  the  cloak  wareroom.  There  was  a  little 
velvet  hat  which  I  fancied  mamma  would  have  bought 
for  me ;  it  was  so  stylish,  and  at  the  same  time  so 
simple,  and  became  me  so  well.  But  it  was  of  a  price 
corresponding  with  its  beauty.  I  turned  my  back  on 
it,  though  I  seemed  to  see  it  just  as  well  through  the 
back  of  my  head,  and  tried  to  find  something  else. 
The  milliner  would  have  it  there  was  nothing  beside 
that  fitted  me.  The  hat  must  go  on. 


SHOPPING.  201 

4  She  has  grown/  said  the  milliner  appealing  to  Dr. 
Sandford  ;  '  and  you  see  this  is  the  very  thing.  This 
tinge  of  colour  inside  is  just  enough  to  relieve  the 
pale  cheeks.  Do  you  see,  sir?' 

4  It  is  without  a  fault,'  said  the  doctor. 

4  Take  it  off,  please,'  I  said.  '  I  want  to  find  some 
thing  that  will  not  cost  so  much  —  something  that  will 
not  cost  near  so  much.' 

4  There  is  that  cap  that  is  too  large  for  Miss  Van 
Allen  —  '  the  milliner's  assistant  remarked. 

4  It  would  not  suit  Mrs.  Randolph  at  all,'  was  the 
answer  aside. 

But  I  begged  to  see  it.  Now  this  was  a  comforta 
ble,  soft  quilted  silk  cap,  with  a  chinchilla  border. 
Not  much  style  about  it,  but  also  nothing  to  dislike, 
except  its  simplicity.  The  price  was  moderate,  and  it 
fitted  me. 

You  are  going  to  be  a  different  Daisy  Randolph 
from  what  you  have  been  all  your  life — something 
whispered  to  me.  And  the  doctor  said,  4  That  makes 
you  look  about  ten  years  old  again,  Daisy.'  I  had  a 
minute  of  doubt  and  delay  ;  then  I  said  1  would  have 
the  cap ;  and  the  great  business  was  ended. 

Margaret's  purchases  were  all  found,  and  we  went 
home,  with  money  still  in  my  bank,  Dr.  Sandford 
informed  me.  I  was  very  tired ;  but  on  the  whole  I 
was  very  satisfied.  Till  my  things  came  home,  and  I 
saw  that  Mrs.  Sandford  did  not  like  them. 

4 1  wish  I  could  have  been  with  you  ! '  she  said. 

4  What  is  the  matter  ? '  said  the  doctor.  It  was  the 
evening,  and  we  were  all  together  for  a  few  minutes, 
before  Mrs.  Sandford  went  to  her  sister. 

4  Did  you  choose  these  things,  Grant?  ' 


202  DAISY. 

4  What  )3  the  matter  with  them?' 

*  They  are  hardly  suitable/ 

'  For  the  third  time,  what  is  the  matter  with  them  ? ' 
said  the  doctor. 

4  They  are  neat,  but  they  are  not  handsome.1 

'  They  will  look  handsome  when  they  are  on/  said 
Dr.  Sandford. 

'No  they  won't;  they  will  look  common.  I  don't 
mean  vulgar  —  you  could  not  buy  anything  in  bad 
taste  —  but  they  are  just  what  anybody's  child  might 
wear/ 

4  Then  Mrs.  Randolph's  child  might/ 

Mrs.  Sandford  gave  him  a  look.  4  That  is  just  the 
thing/  she  said.  '  Mrs.  Randolph's  child  might  not. 
I  never  saw  anybody  more  elegant  or  more  particular 
about  the  choice  of  her  dress  than  Mrs.  Randolph ;  it 
is  always  perfect ;  and  Daisy's  always  was.  Mrs. 
Randolph  would  not  like  these/ 

4  Shall  we  change  them,  Daisy  ?  *  said  the  doctor. 

I  said  no. 

'  Then  I  hope  they  will  wear  out  before  Mrs.  Ran 
dolph  comes  home,'  he  said. 

All  this  somehow  made  me  uncomfortable.  I  went 
off  to  the  room  which  had  been  given  to  me,  where  a 
fire  was  kept ;  and  I  sat  down  to  think.  Certainly  I 
would  have  liked  the  other  coat  and  hat  better,  that  I 
had  rejected  ;  and  the  thought  of  the  rich  soft  folds  of 
that  silky  merino  were  not  pleasant  to  me.  The  plaid  I 
had  bought  die?  wear  a  common  look  in  comparison.  I 
knew  it,  quite  as  well  as  Mrs.  Sandford ;  and  that  I 
had  nefer  worn  common  things  ;  and  I  knew  that  in 
the  merino,  properly  made,  I  should  have  looked  my 
mother's  child ;  and  that  in  the  plaid  my  mother 


SHOPPING.  203 

would  not  know  me.  Was  I  right?  was  I  wrong?  I 
knelt  down  before  the  fire,  feeling  that  the  straight 
path  was  not  always  easy  to  find.  Yet  I  had  thought 
I  saw  it  before  me.  I  knelt  before  the  fire,  which  was 
the  only  light  in  the  room,  and  opened  the  page  of  my 
dear  little  book  that  had  the  Bible  lessons  for  every 
day.  This  day's  lesson  was  headed,  '  That  ye  adorn 
the  doctrine  of  God  our  Saviour  in  all  things.' 

The  mist  began  to  clear  away.  Between  adorning 
and  being  adorned,  the  difference  was  so  great,  it  set 
my  face  quite  another  way  directly.  I  went  on. 
1  Let  your  conversation  be  as  it  becometh  the  gospel 
of  Christ.' 

And  how  should  that  be?  Certainly  the  spirit  of 
that  gospel  had  no  regard  to  self-glorification  ;  and  had 
most  tender  regard  to  the  wants  of  others.  I  began  to 
feel  sure  that  I  was  in  the  way  and  not  out  of  it. 
Then  came  — '  If  ye  be  reproached  for  the  name  of 
Christ,  happy  are  ye.  But  let  none  of  you  suffer  .  . 
.  .  .  as  a  thief,  or  as  an  evildoer '  —  '  Let  your  light 
so  shine  before  men '  —  4  Let  not  mercy  and  truth  for 
sake  thee  ;  bind  them  about  thy  neck  ; '  — '  Whatso 
ever  things  are  true,  whatsoever  things  are  honest, 
whatsoever  things  are  just  ....  think  on  these 
things.' 

The  words  came  about  me,  binding  up  my  doubts, 
making  sound  my  heart,  laying  a  soft  touch  upon 
every  rough  spot  in  my  thoughts.  True,  honest,  just, 
lovely,  and  of  good  report,  —  yes,  I  would  think  on 
these  things,  and  I  would  not  be  turned  aside  from 
them.  And  if  I  suffered  as  a  Christian,  I  determined 
that  I  would"  not  be  ashamed  ;  I  prayed  that  I  might 
never ;  I  would  take  as  no  iishonour  the  laughter  or 


204  DAISY. 

the  contempt  of  those  who  did  not  see  the  two  sides 
of  the  question  ;  but  as  a  thief  I  would  not  suffer.  I 
earnestly  prayed  that  I  might  not.  No  beauty  of 
dresses  or  stylishness  of  coats  or  bonnets  should  adorn 
me,  the  price  of  which  God  saw  belonged  and  was  due 
to  the  suffering  of  others ;  more  especially,  to  the 
wants  of  those  whose  wants  made  my  supply.  That 
my  father  and  mother,  with  the  usage  of  old  habit,  and 
the  influence  of  universal  custom,  should  be  blind  to 
what  I  saw  so  clearly,  made  no  difference  in  my  duty. 
I  had  the  light  of  the  Bible  rule,  which  was  not  yet,  I 
knew,  the  lamp  to  their  feet.  I  must  walk  by  it,  all 
the  same.  And  my  thought  went  back  now  with  great 
tenderness  to  mammy  Theresa's  rheumatism,  which 
wanted  flannel ;  to  Maria's  hyacinths,  which  were  her 
great  earthly  interest,  out  of  the  things  of  religion  ;  to 
Darry's  lonely  cottage,  where  he  had  no  lamp  to  read 
the  Bible  o'  nights,  and  no  oil  to  burn  in  it.  To  Pete's 
solitary  hut,  too,  where  he  was  struggling  to  learn  to 
read  well,  and  where  a  hymn-book  would  be  the  great 
est  comfort  to  him.  To  the  old  people,  whose  one 
solace  of  a  cup  of  tea  would  be  gone  unless  I  gave 
it  them ;  to  the  boys  who  were  learning  to  read 
who  wanted  testaments ;  to  the  bed-ridden  and  sick 
who  wanted  blankets ;  to  the  young  and  well  who 
wanted  gowns  (not  indeed  for  decency,  but  for  the 
natural  pleasure  of  looking  neat  and  smart)  —  and  to 
Margaret,  first  and  last,  who  was  nearest  to  me,  and 
who,  I  began  to  think,  might  want  some  other  trifles 
besides  a  cloak.  The  girl  came  in  at  the  minute. 

1  Margaret,'  I  said,  '  I  have  got  you   a  warm  gown 
and  a  good  thick  warm  cloak,  to-day.' 


SHOPPING.  205 

'A  cloak!  Miss  Daisy  — '  Margaret's  lips  just 
parted  and  shewed  the  white  beneath. 

4  Yes.  I  saw  you  were  not  warm  in  that  thin 
shawl.' 

4  It's  mighty  cold  up  these  ways  !  — '  the  girl's  shoul 
ders  drew  together  with  involuntary  expression. 

'And  now,  Margaret,  what  other  things  do  you 
want,  to  be  nice  and  comfortable  ?  You  must  tell  me 
now,  because  after  I  go  to  school  I  cannot  see  you 
often,  you  know.' 

4  Reckon  I  find  something  to  do  at  the  school,  Miss 
Daisy.  Aint  there  servants  ? ' 

'  Yes,  but  I  am  afraid  there  may  not  be  another 
wanted.  What  else  ought  you  to  have,  Margaret?' 

4  Miss  Daisy  knows,  I'll  hire  myself  out,  and  reckon 
I'll  get  a  right  smart  chance  of  wages ;  and  then,  if 
Miss  Daisy  let  me  take  some  change,  I'd  like  to  get 
some  things  — ' 

4  You  may  keep  all  your  wages,  Margaret,'  I  said 
hastily  ;  '  you  need  not  bring  them  to  me  ;  but  I  want 
to  know  if  you  have  all  you  need  now^  to  be  nice  and 
warm  ? ' 

4  Spect  I'd  be  better  for  some  underclothes  — '  Mar 
garet  said  half  under  her  breath. 

Of  course !  I  knew  it  the  moment  she  said  it.  I 
knew  the  scanty  coarse  supply  which  was  furnished  to 
the  girls  and  women  at  Magnolia ;  I  knew  that  more 
was  needed  for  neatness  as  well  as  for  comfort,  and 
something  different,  now  that  she  was  where  no  evil 
distinction  would  arise  from  her  having  it.  I  said  I 
would  get  what  she  wanted  ;  and  went  away  back  to 
the  parlour.  I  mused  as  I  went.  If  I  let  Margaret 

keep  her  wages  —  and  I  was  very  certain  I  could  not 

is 


206  DAISY. 

receive  them  from  her  —  I  must  be  prepared  to  answer 
it  to  my  father.  Perhaps,  —  yes,  I  felt  sure  as  I 
thought  about  it  —  I  must  contrive  to  save  the  amount 
of  her  wages  out  of  what  was  given  to  myself;  or  else 
my  grant  might  be  reversed  and  my  action  disallowed, 
or  at  least  greatly  disapproved.  And  my  father  had 
given  me  no  right  to  dispose  of  Margaret's  wages,  or 
of  herself. 

So  I  came  into  the  parlour.  Dr.  Sandford  alone 
was  there,  lying  on  the  sofa.  He  jumped  up  immedi 
ately  ;  pulled  a  great  arm  chair  near  to  the  fire,  and 
taking  hold  of  me  put  me  into  it.  My  purchases  were 
lying  on  the  table,  where  they  had  been  disapproved ; 
but  I  knew  what  to  think  of  them  now.  I  could  look 
at  them  very  contentedly. 

4  How  do  they  seem,  Daisy? '  said  the  doctor,  stretch 
ing  himself  on  the  cushions  again,  after  asking  my 
permission  and  pardon. 

4  Very  well '  —  I  said  smiling. 

4  You  are  satisfied  ? ' 

I  said  yes. 

*  Daisy,'  said  he,  '  you  have  conquered  me  to-day  — 
I  have  yielded  —  I  own  myself  conquered  ;  but,  won't 
you  enlighten  me  ?  As  a  matter  of  favour  ? ' 

4  About  what,  Dr.  Sandford?' 

4 1  don't  understand  you.' 

I  remember  looking  at  him  and  smiling.  It  was  so 
curious  a  thing,  both  that  he  should,  in  his  philosophy, 
be  puzzled  by  a  child  like  me,  and  that  he  should 
care  about  undoing  the  puzzle. 

4  There  ! '  said  he,  — 4  that  is  my  old  little  Daisy  of 
ten  years  old.  Daisy,  I  used  to  think  she  was  an  ex 
tremely  dainty  and  particular  little  person.' 


SHOPPING.  207 

4  Yes  —  *  said  I. 

*  Was  that  correct?' 

4 1  don't  know/  said  I.     *  I  think  it  was.' 

'Then  Daisy,  honestly,  —  I  am  asking  as  a  philos 
opher,  and  that  means  a  lover  of  knowledge,  you 
know,  —  did  you  choose  those  articles  to-day  to  please 
yourself  ? ' 

4  In  one  way,  I  did/  I  answered. 

4  Did  they  appear  to  you  as  they  did  to  Mrs.  Sand- 
ford,  —  at  the  time  ?' 

4  Yes,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

4  So  I  thought.  Then  Daisy,  will  you  make  me  un 
derstand  it  ?  For  I  am  puzzled.' 

I  was  sorry  that  he  cared  about  the  puzzle,  for  I  did 
not  want  to  go  into  it.  I  was  almost  sure  he  would 
not  make  it  out  if  I  did.  However,  he  lay  there  look 
ing  at  me  and  waiting. 

4  Those  other  things  cost  too  much,  Dr.  Sandford  — 
that  was  all.' 

4  There  is  the  puzzle  ! '  said  the  doctor.  4  You  had 
the  money  in  your  bank  for  them,  and  money  for  Mar 
garet's  things  too,  and  more  if  you  wanted  it ;  and  no 
bottom  to  the  bank  at  all,  so  far  as  I  could  see.  And 
you  like  pretty  things,  Daisy,  and  you  did  not  choose 
them.' 

4  No,  sir.' 

I  hesitated,  and  he  waited.  How  was  I  to  tell  him 
He  would  simply  find  it  ridiculous.  And  then  1 
thought  — 4If  any  of  you  suffer  as  a  Christian,  let 
him  not  be  ashamed.'  — 

4 1  thought  I  should  be  comfortable  in  these  things, 
Dr.  Sandford,'  I  then  said,  glancing  at  the  little  chin 
chilla  cap  which  lay  on  the  table  ;  —  4  and  respectable. 


208  DAISY. 

And  there  were  other  people  who  needed  all  the  money 
the  other  things  would  have  cost.' 

4  Whut  other  people  ? '  said  the  doctor.  '  As  I  am 
your  guardian,  Daisy,  it  is  proper  for  rne  to  ask,  and 
not  impertinent.' 

I  hesitated  again.  '  I  was  thinking,'  I  said, 4  of  some 
of  the  people  I  left  at  Magnolia.' 

4  Do  you  mean  the  servants  ? ' 

4  Yes,  sir.' 

4  Daisy,  they  are  cared  for.' 

I  was  silent. 

4  What  do  you  think  they  want  ? ' 

4  Some  that  are  sick  want  comfort,'  I  said ;  c  and 
others  who  are  not  sick  want  help ;  and  others,  I 
think,  want  a  little  pleasure.'  I  would  fain  not  have 
spoken,  but  how  could  I  help  it?  The  doctor  brought 
his  feet  off  the  sofa  and  sat  up  and  confronted  me. 

4  In  the  mean  time,'  he  said,  'you  are  to  be  "  com 
fortable  and  respectable."  But,  Daisy,  do  you  think 
your  father  and  mother  would  be  satisfied  with  such  a 
statement  of  your  condition?' 

4 1  suppose  not,'  I  was  obliged  to  say. 

4  Then  do  you  think  it  is  proper  for  me  to  allow  such 
to  be  the  fact?' 

I  looked  at  him.  What  there  was  in  my  look  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  say  ;  but  he  laughed  a  little. 

4  Yes,'  he  said,  — 4 1  know  —  you  have  conquered  me 
to-day.  I  own  myself  conquered  —  but  the  question  I 
ask  you  is,  whether  I  am  justifiable  ? ' 

4 1  think  that  depends,'  I  answered,  4  on  whether  1 
am  justifiable.' 

4  Can  you  justify  yourself,  Daisy  ?  '  he  said  bringing 
his  hand  down  gently  over  my  smooth  hair  and  touch- 


SHOPPING.  209 

ing  my  cheek.  It  would  have  vexed  me  from  anybody 
else  ;  it  did  not  vex  me  from  him.  '  Can  you  justify 
yourself,  Daisy?'  he  repeated. 

'  Yes,  sir,'  I  said  ;  but  I  felt  troubled. 

4  Then  do  it.' 

4  Dr.  Sandford,  the  Bible  says,  "Whatsoever  ye 
would  that  men  should  do  to  you,  do  ye  even  so  to 
them.'" 

'  Well  ? '  said  he,  refusing  to  draw  any  conclusions 
for  me. 

'  I  have  more  than  I  want,  and  they  have  not  enough. 
T  don't  think  I  ought  to  keep  more  than  I  want.' 

4  But  then  arises  the  question,'  said  he,  '  how  much 
Jo  3*011  want?  Where  is  the  line,  beyond  which  you, 
or  I,  for  instance,  have  too  much?' 

4 1  was  not  speaking  of  anybody  but  myself,'  I  said. 

4  But  a  rule  of  action  which  is  the  right  one  for  you, 
would  be  right  for  everybody.' 

4  Yes,  but  everybody  must  apply  it  for  himself,'  I 
said.  4 1  was  only  applying  it  for  myself.' 

4  And  applying  it  for  yourself,  Daisy,  is  it  to  cut  off 
for  the  future  —  or  ought  it  —  all  elegance  and  beauty  ? 
Must  you  restrict  yourself  to  mere  44  comfort  and 
respectability"?  Are  fur  and  feathers  for  instance 
wicked  things  ? ' 

He  did  not  speak  mockingly ;  Dr.  Sandford  never 
could  do  an  ungentlemanly  thing ;  he  spoke  kindly  and 
with  a  little  rallying  smile  on  his  face.  But  I  knew 
what  he  thought. 

4  Dr.  Sandford,'  said  I,  4  suppose  I  was  a  fairy,  and 
that  I  stripped  the  gown  off  a  poor  woman's  back  to 
change  it  into  a  feather,  and  stole  away  her  blankets  to 
18* 


210  DAISY. 

make  them  into  fur  ;  what  would  you  think  of  fur  and 
feathers  then?' 

There  came  a  curious  lightning  through  the  doctor's 
blue  eyes.  I  did  not  know  in  the  least  what  it  meant. 

'  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Daisy,  that  the  poor  people 
down  yonder  at  Magnolia  want  such  things  as  gowns 
and  blankets  ? ' 

4  Some  do,'  I  said.  c  You  know,  nobody  is  there,  Dr. 
Sandford,  to  look  after  them  ;  and  the  overseer  does 
not  care.  It  would  be  different  if  papa  was  at  home.' 

4 1  will  never  interfere  with*  you  any  more,  Daisy,' 
said  the  doctor,  — '  any  further  than  by  a  little  very 
judicious  interference ;  and  you  shall  find  in  me  the 
best  helper  I  can  be  to  all  your  plans.  You  may  use 
me  —  you  have  conquered  me,' —  said  he  smiling,  and 
laying  himself  back  on  his  cushions  again.  I  was  very 
glad  it  had  ended  so,  for  I  could  hardly  have  withstood 
Dr.  Sandford  if  he  had  taken  a  different  view  of  the 
matter.  And  his  help  I  knew,  might  be  very  good  in 
getting  things  sent  to  Magnolia. 


SCHOOL.  211 


CHAPTER   X. 

SCHOOL. 

I  HAD  another  time  the  next  day  between  Mrs  Sand- 
ford  and  the  mantua-maker.  The  mantua-maker  came 
to  take  orders  about  making  my  school  dress. 

4  How  will  you  have  it  trimmed  ? '  she  asked.  '  This 
sort  of  stuff  will  make  no  sort  of  an  appearance  unless  it 
is  well  trimmed.  It  wants  that.  You  might  have  a 
border  of  dark  green  leaves  —  dark  green,  like  the 
colour  of  this  stripe  —  going  round  the  skirt;  that 
would  have  a  good  effect ;  the  leaves  set  in  and  edged 
with  a  very  small  red  cord,  or  green  if  you  like  it 
better.  We  trimmed  a  dress  so  last  week,  and  it  made 
a  very  good  appearance/ 

'  What  do  you  say,  Daisy  ? ' 

4  How  much  will  it  cost  ?  '  I  asked. 

'  O  the  cost  is  not  very  much/  said  the  milliner.  '  I 
suppose  we  would  do  it  for  you,  Mrs.  Sandford,  for 
twenty-five  dollars.' 

4  That  is  too  much,'  I  said. 

4  You  wouldn't  say  so,  if  you  knew  the  work  it  is  to 
set  those  leaves  round,'  said  the  mantua-maker.  '  It 
takes  hours  and  hours  ;  and  the  cording  and  all.  And 
the  silk,  you  know,  Mrs.  Sandford,  that  costs  now-a- 
days.  It  takes  a  full  yard  of  the  silk,  and  no  washy 
lining  silk,  but  good  stiff  dress  silk.  Some  has  'em 


212  DAISY. 

made  of  velvet,  but  to  be  sure  that  would  not  be 
suitable  for  a  common  stuff  like  this.  It  will  be  very 
common,  Mrs.  Sandford,  without  you  have  it  hand 
somely  trimmed.' 

4  Couldn't  you  put  some  other  sort  of  trimming?' 

4  Well,  there's  no  other  way  that  looks  distingue  on 
this  sort  of  stuff;  that's  the  most  stylish.  We  could 
put  a  band  of  rows  of  black  velvet —  an  inch  wide,  or 
half  an  inch ;  if  you  have  it  narrower  you  must  put 
more  of  them  ;  and  then  the  sleeves  and  loody  to  match  ; 
but  I  don't  think  you  would  like  it  so  well  as  the  green 
leaves.  A  great  many  people  has  'em  trimmed  so ; 
you"  like  it  a  little  out  of  the  common,  Mrs.  Sandford. 
Or,  you  could  have  a  green  ribband.' 

4  How  much  would  that  be? '  said  Mrs.  Sandford. 

4  O  really  I  don't  just  know,'  the  woman  answered  ; 
*  depends  on  the  ribband  ;  it  don't  make  much  differ 
ence  to  you,  Mrs.  Sandford  ;  it  would  be  —  let  me  see, 
—  O  I  suppose  we  could  do  it  with  velvet  for  you  for 
fifteen  or  twenty  dollars.  You  see,  there  must  be 
buttons  or  rosettes  at  the  joinings  of  the  velvets  ;  and 
those  come  very  expensive.' 

4  How  much  would  it  be,  to  make  the  dress  plain?  ' 
I  asked. 

1  That  would  be  plain,'  the  mantua-maker  answered 
quickty.  4  The  style  is,  to  trim  everything  very  much. 
O  that  would  be  quite  plain,  with  the  velvet/ 

4 But  without  any  trimming  at  all?'  I  asked.  4  How 
much  would  that  be  ? '  I  felt  an  odd  sort  of  shame  at 
pressing  the  question  ;  yet  I  knew  I  must. 

4  Without  trimming  ! '  said  the  woman.  4  O  you  could 
not  have  it  without  trimming;  there  is  nothing  made 
without  trimming  ;  it  would  have  no  appearance  at  all. 


SCHOOL.  213 

People  would  think  you  had  come  out  of  the  country. 
No  young  ladies  have  their  dresses  made  without  trim 
ming  this  winter/ 

'  Mrs.  Saudford,'  said  I,  '  I  should  like  to  know  what 
the  dress  would  be  without  trimming.' 

'  What  would  it  be,  Melinda?  *  The  woman  was  only 
a  forewoman  of  her  establishment. 

'  O  well,  Mrs.  Sandford,  the  naked  dress  I  have  nc 
doubt  could  be  made  for  you  for  five  dollars.' 

4  You  would  not  have  it  so,  Daisy,  my  dear?'  said 
Mrs.  Sandford. 

But  I  said  I  would  have  it  so.  It  cost  me  a  little 
difficulty,  and  a  little  shrinking,  I  remember,  to  choose 
this  and  to  hold  to  it  in  the  face  of  the  other  two.  It 
was  the  last -battle  of  that  campaign.  I  had  my  way ; 
but  I  wondered  privately  to  myself  whether  I  was  go 
ing  to  look  very  unlike  the  children  of  other  ladies  in 
my  mother's  position  ;  and  whether  such  severity  over 
myself  was  really  needed.  I  turned  the  question  over 
again  in  my  own  room,  and  tried  to  find  out  why  it 
troubled  me.  I  could  not  quite  tell.  Yet  I  thought, 
as  I  was  doing  what  I  knew  to  be  duty,  I  had  no  right 
to  feel  this  trouble  about  it.  The  trouble  wore  off  be 
fore  a  little  thought  of  my  poor  friends  at  Magnolia. 
But  the  question  came  up  again  at  dinner. 

'  Daisjr,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford,  '  did  you  ever  have 
anything  to  do  with  the  Methodists  ?  ' 

4  No,  ma'am,'  I  said  wondering.  'What  are  the 
Methodists?' 

4 1  don't  know,  I  am  sure,'  she  said  laughing ;  '  only 
they  are  people  who  sing  hymns  a  great  deal,  and  teach 
that  nobody  ought  to  wear  gay  dresses.' 

'Why?'  I  asked.. 


214  DAISY. 

' 1  can't  say.  I  believe  they  hold  that  the  Bible  foi- 
bids  ornamenting  ourselves.' 

I  wondered  if  it  did  ;  and  determined  I  would  look, 
And  I  thought  the  Methodists  must  be  nice  people. 

4  What  is  on  the  carpet  now  ? '  said  the  doctor. 
•  Singing  or  dressing?  You  are  attacking  Daisy  I  see, 
on  some  score/ 

'  She  won't  have  her  dress  trimmed,'  said  Mrs.  Sand- 
ford. 

The  doctor  turned  round  to  me,  with  a  wonderful  genial 
pleasant  expression  of  his  fine  face  ;  and  his  blue  eye, 
that  I  always  liked  to  meet  full,  going  through  me  with 
a  sort  of  soft  power.  He  was  not  smiling,  yet  his  look 
made  me  smile. 

*  Daisy,'  said  he,  *  are  you  going  to  make  yourself 
unlike  other  people  ? ' 

'  Only  my  dress,  Dr.  Sandford,'  I  said. 

'L'habit,  c'est  1'homme ! — '  he  answered  gravely, 
shaking  his  head. 

I  remembered  his  question  and  words  many  times  in 
the  course  of  the  next  six  months. 

In  a  day  or  two  more  my  dress  was  done,  and  Dr. 
Sandford  went  with  me  to  introduce  me  at  the  school 
He  had  already  made  the  necessary  arrangements.  It 
was  a  large  establishment,  reckoned  the  most  fashion 
able  and  at  the  same  time  one  of  the  most  thorough,  in 
the  city  ;  the  house,  or  houses,  standing  in  one  of  the 
broad  clear  Avenues,  where  the  streams  of  human  life 
that  went  up  and  down  were  all  of  the  sort  that  wore 
trimmed  dresses  and  rolled  about  in  handsome  carriages. 
Just  in  the  centre  and  height  of  the  thoroughfare  Mme. 
Ricard's  establishment  looked  over  it.  We  went  in  at 
a  stately  doorway,  and  were  shown  into  a  very  elegant 


SCHOOL.  215 

parlour ;  where  at  a  grand  piano  a  young  lady  was 
taking  a  music  lesson.  The  noise  was  very  disagree 
able  ;  but  that  was  the  only  disagreeable  thing  in  the 
place.  Pictures  were  on  the  walls,  a  soft  carpet  on  the 
floor  ;  the  colours  of  carpet  and  furniture  were  dark  and 
rich ;  books  and  trinkets  and  engravings  in  profusion 
gave  the  look  of  cultivated  life  and  the  ease  of  plenty. 
It  was  not  what  I  had  expected  ;  nor  was  Mme.  Ricard, 
who  came  in  noiselessly  and  stood  before  us  while  I 
was  considering  the  wonderful  moustache  of  the  music 
teacher.  I  saw  a  rather  short,  grave  person,  very  plain 
ly  dressed,  but  indeed  I  never  thought  of  the  dress  she 
wore.  The  quiet  composure  of  the  figure,  was  what 
attracted  me,  and  the  peculiar  expression  of  the  face. 
It  was  sad,  almost  severe  ;  so  I  thought  it  at  first ;  till 
a  smile  once  for  an  instant  broke  upon  the  lips,  like 
a  flitting  sunbeam  out  of  a  cloudjr  sky ;  then  I  saw 
that  kindliness  was  quite  at  home  there,  and  s}rmpathy 
and  a  sense  of  merriment  were  not  wanting ;  but  the 
clouds  closed  again,  and  the  look  of  care,  or  sorrow,  I 
could  not  quite  tell  what  it  was,  only  that  it  was  unrest, 
retook  its  place  on  brow  and  lip.  The  eye  I  think 
never  lost  it.  Yet  it  was  a  searching  and  command 
ing  eye  ;  I  was  sure  it  knew  how  to  rule. 

The  introduction  was  soon  made,  and  Dr.  Sandford 
bid  me  good  bye.  I  felt  as  if  my  best  friend  was  leav 
ing  me  ;  the  only  one  I  had  trusted  in  since  my  father 
and  mother  had  gone  away.  I  said  nothing,  but  per 
haps  my  face  shewed  my  thought,  for  he  stooped  and 
kissed  me. 

;  Good  bye,  Daisy  Remember,  I  shall  expect  a  letter 
every  fortnight.' 

He  had  ordered  me  before  to  write  him  as  often  as 


216  DAISY. 

that,  and  give  hirn  a  minute  account  of  myself;  how 
many  studies  I  was  pursuing,  how  many  hours  I  gave 
to  them  each  day,  what  exercise  I  took,  and  what 
amusement ;  and  how  I  throve  withal.  Mme.  Ricard 
had  offered  to  shew  me  my  room  and  we  were  mounting 
the  long  stairs  while  I  thought  this  over. 

1  Is  Dr.  Sandford  JOUY  cousin,  Miss  Randolph?'  was 
the  question  which  came  in  upon  my  thoughts. 

'  No,  ma'am/  I  answered  in  extreme  surprise. 

4  Is  he  any  relation  to  you  ? ' 

'  He  is  my  guardian/ 

*  I  think  Dr.  Sandford  told  me  that  your  father  and 
mother  are  abroad  ? ' 

1  Yes,  ma'am  ;  and  Dr.  Sandford  is  my  guardian.' 

We  had  climbed  two  flights  of  stairs,  and  I  was 
panting.  As  we  went  up,  I  had  noticed  a  little  un 
usual  murmur  of  noises  which  told  me  I  was  in  a  new 
world.  Little  indistinguishable  noises,  the  stir  and 
hum  of  the  busy  hive  into  which  I  had  entered.  Now 
and  then  a  door  had  opened,  and  a  head  or  a  figure 
came  out ;  but  as  instantly  went  back  again  on  seeing 
Madame,  and  the  door  was  softly  closed.  We  reached 
the  third  floor.  There  a  young  lady  appeared  at  the 
further  end  of  the  gallery,  and  curtseyed  to  my  con 
ductress. 

4  Miss  Bentley,'  said  Madame,  l  this  is  your  new 
companion,  Miss  Randolph.  Will  you  be  so  good  as 
to  shew  Miss  Randolph  her  room  ? ' 

Madame  turned  and  left  us,  and  the  young  lady  led 
me  into  the  room  she  had  just  quitted.  A  large  room, 
light  and  bright,  and  pleasantly  furnished  ;  but  the  one 
thing  that  struck  my  unaccustomed  eyes  was  the  evi 
dence  of  fulness  of  occupation.  One  bed  stood  opposite 


SCHOOL.  217 

the  fireplace  ;  another  across  the  head  of  that,  between 
it  and  one  of  the  windows  ;  a  third  was  between  the  doors 
on  the  inner  side  of  the  room.  Moreover,  the  first  and 
the  last  of  these  were  furnished  with  two  pillows  each.  I 
did  not  in  the  moment  use  my  arithmetic  ;  but  the  feel 
ing  which  instantly  pressed  upon  me  was  that  of  want 
of  breath. 

'  This  is  the  bed  prepared  for  you,  I  believe,'  said 
my  companion  civilly,  pointing  to  the  third  one  before 
the  window.  '  There  isn't  room  for  anybody  to  turn 
round  here  now.' 

I  began  mechanically  to  take  off  my  cap  and  gloves, 
looking  hard  at  the  little  bed,  and  wondering  what 
other  rights  of  possession  were  to  be  given  me  in  this 
place.  I  saw  a  washstand  in  one  window  and  a  large 
mahogany  wardrobe  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace ;  a 
dressing  table  or  chest  of  drawers  between  the  win 
dows.  Everything  was  handsome  and  nice  ;  every 
thing  was  in  the  neatest  order ;  but  —  where  were  my 
clothes  to  go  ?  Before  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  ask, 
there  came  a  rush  into  the  room  ;  I  supposed,  of  the 
other  inmates.  One  was  a  very  large,  fat,  dull-faced 
girl ;  I  should  have  thought  her  a  young  woman,  only 
that  she  was  here  in  a  school.  Another,  bright  and 
pretty  and  very  good-humoured  if  there  was  any  truth 
in  her  smiling  black  eyes,  was  much  slighter  and  some 
what  younger ;  a  year  or  two  in  advance  of  myself. 
The  third  was  a  girl  about  my  own  age,  shorter  and 
smaller  than  I,  with  also  a  pretty  face,  but  an  eye  that 
I  was  not  so  sure  of.  She  was  the  last  one  to  come 
in,  and  she  immediately  stopped  and  looked  at  me ;  I 
thought,  with  no  pleasure. 
19 


218  DAISY. 

4  This  is  Miss  Randolph,  girls/  said  Miss  Bentley. 
4  Miss  Randolph,  Miss  Macy.' 

I  curtseyed  to  the  fat  girl,  who  gave  me  a  little  nod. 

4 1  am  glad  she  isn't  as  big  as  I  am,'  was  her  com 
ment  on  the  introduction.  I  was  glad  too. 

4  Miss  Lansing  — ' 

This  was  bright-eyes,  who  bowed  and  smiled — she 
always  smiled  —  and  said  'How  do  you  do?'  Then 
rushed  off  to  a  drawer  in  search  of  something. 

4  Miss  St.  Clair,  will  you  come  and  be  introduced  to 
Miss  Randolph?' 

The  St.  Clair  walked  up  demurely  and  took  my 
hand.  Her  words  were  in  abrupt  contrast. 

4  Where  are  her  things  going,  Miss  Bentley?'  I 
wondered  that  pretty  lips  could  be  so  ungracious.  It 
was  not  temper  which  appeared  on  them,  but  cool  rude 
ness. 

4  Madame  said  we  must  make  some  room  for  her,' 
Miss  Bentley  answered. 

4 1  don't  know  where,'  remarked  Miss  Macy.  c  I  have 
not  two  inches.' 

4  She  can't  have  a  peg  nor  a  drawer  of  mine,'  said 
the  St.  Clair.  4  Don't  you  put  her  there,  Bentley.' 
And  the  young  lady  left  us  with  that. 

4  We  must  manage  it  somehow,'  said  Miss  Bentley. 
4  Lansing,  look  here,  —  can't  you  take  your  things  out 
of  this  drawer  ?  Miss  Randolph  has  no  place  to  lay 
anything.  She  must  have  a  little  place,  you  know.' 

Lansing  looked  up  with  a  perplexed  face,  and  Miss 
Macy  remarked  that  nobody  had  a  bit  of  room  to  lay 
anything. 

'  I  am  very  sorry  — '  I  said. 

4  It  is  no  use  being  sorry,  child,'  said  Miss  Macy, 4  we 


SCBOOL.  219 

have  got  to  fix  it,  somehow.  I  know  who  ought  to  be 
sorry.  Here  —  I  can  take  this  pile  of  things  out  of 
this  drawer ;  that  is  all  /  can  do.  Can't  she  manage 
with  this  half  ? ' 

But  Miss  Lansing  came  and  made  her  arrangements, 
and  then  it  was  found  that  the  smallest  of  the  four 
drawers  was  cleared  and  ready  for  my  occupa 
tion. 

4  But  if  we  give  you  a  whole  drawer/  said  Miss 
Macy,  '  you  must  be  content  with  one  peg  in  the  ward 
robe  —  will  you  ? ' 

'  O  and  she  can  have  one  or  two  hooks  in  the  closet,' 
said  bright-eyes.  '  Come  here,  Miss  Randolph  —  I 
will  shew  you  — ' 

And  there  in  the  closet  I  found  was  another  place 
for  washing,  with  cocks  for  hot  and  cold  water ;  and  a 
press  and  plenty  of  iron  hooks ;  with  also  plenty  of 
dresses  and  hats  hanging  on  them.  Miss  Lansing 
moved  and  changed  several  of  these,  till  she  had  cleared 
a  space  for  me. 

4  There  — '  she  said,  '  now  you'll  do,  won't  you  ?  I 
don't  believe  you  can  get  a  scrap  of  a  corner  in  the 
wardrobe  ;  Macy  and  Bentley  and  St.  Clair  take  it  up 
so.  /haven't  but  one  dress  hanging  there,  but  you've 
got  a  whole  drawer  in  the  bureau  —  ' 

I  was  not  very  awkward  and  clumsy  in  my  belong 
ings,  but  an  elephant  could  scarcely  have  been  more 
bewildered  if  he  had  been  requested  to  lay  his  probocis 
up  in  a  glove  box.  '  I  cannot  put  a  dress  in  the 
drawer,'  I  remarked. 

'•O  you  can  hang  one  up,  here,  under  your  cap  ;  and 
that  id  all  any  of  us  do.  Our  things,  all  except  our 


2*20  DAISY. 

everyday  things,  go  down  stairs  in  our  trunks.  Have 
you  many  trunks  ? ' 

I  told  her  no,  only  one.  I  did  not  know  why  it  was 
a  little  disagreeable  to  me  to  say  that.  The  feeling 
came  and  passed.  I  hung  up  my  coat  and  cap,  and 
brushed  my  hair ;  my  new  companion  looking  on. 
"Without  any  remark,  however,  she  presently  rushed 
off,  and  I  was  left  alone.  I  began  to  appreciate  that. 
I  sat  down  on  the  side  of  my  little  bed,  —  to  my  fancy 
the  very  chairs  were  appropriated,  —  and  looked  at  my 
new  place  in  the  world. 

Five  of  us  in  that  room !  I  had  always  had  the 
comfort  of  great  space  and  ample  conveniences  about 
me ;  was  it  a  luxury  I  had  enjoyed  ?  It  had  seemed 
nothing  more  than  a  necessity.  And  now,  must  I  dress 
and  undress  myself  before  so  many  spectators?  could 
I  not  lock  up  anything  that  belonged  to  me?  were  all 
my  nice  and  particular  habits  to  be  crushed  into  one 
drawer  and  smothered  on  one  or  two  clothes  pins? 
Must  everything  I  did  be  seen?  And  above  all,  where 
could  I  pray?  I  looked  round  in  a  sort  of  fright. 
There  was  but  one  closet  in  the  room,  and  that  was  a 
washing  closet,  and  held  besides  a  great  quantity  of 
other  people's  belongings.  I  could  not,  even  for  a 
moment,  shut  it  against  them.  In  a  kind  of  terror,  I 
looked  to  make  sure  that  I  was  alone,  and  fell  on  my 
knees.  It  seemed  to  me  that  all  I  could  do  was  to 
pray  every  minute  that  I  should  have  to  myself.  They 
would  surely  be  none  too  many.  Then  hearing  a  foot 
step  somewhere,  I  rose  again  and  took  from  my  bag 
my  dear  little  book.  It  was  so  small  I  could  carry  it 
where  I  had  not  room  for  my  Bible.  I  looked  for  the 


SCHOOL.  22  \ 

page  of  the  day,  I  remember  now,  with  my  eyes  full  of 
tears. 

4  Be  watchful '  —  were  the  first  words  that  met  me. 
Ay,  I  was  sure  I  would  need  it ;  but  how  was  a  watch 
to  be  kept  up,  if  I  could  never  be  alone  to  take  coun 
sel  with  myself  ?  I  did  not  see  it ;  this  was  another 
matter  from  Miss  Pinshon's  unlocked  door.  After  all, 
that  door  had  not  greatly  troubled  me  ;  my  room  had 
not  been  of  late  often  invaded.  Now  I  had  no  room. 
What  more  would  my  dear  little  book  say  to  me? 

4  Be  sober,  be  vigilant ;  because  your  adversary  the 
devil,  as  a  roaring  lion,  walketh  about,  seeking  whom 
he  may  devour/  — 

Was  the  battle  to  go  so  hard  against  me  ?  and  what 
should  I  do  without  that  old  and  well-tried  weapon  of 
4  all-prayer '  ?  Nothing  ;  I  should  be  conquered.  I 
must  have  and  keep  that,  I  resolved ;  if  I  lay  awake 
and  got  up  at  night  to  use  it.  Dr.  Sandford  would 
not  like  such  a  proceeding ;  but  there  were  worse  dan 
gers  than  the  clanger  of  lessened  health.  I  would  pray  ; 
but  what  next  ? 

1  Take  heed  to  thyself,  and  keep  thy  soul  diligently/ 
— 4  What  I  say  unto  j^ou  I  say  unto  all,  Watch/  — 

I  stood  by  the  side  of  my  bed,  dashing  the  tears 
from  my  eyes.  Then  I  heard,  as  I  thought,  some  one 
coming,  and  in  haste  looked  to  see  what  else  might  be 
on  the  page  ;  what  further  message  or  warning.  And 
something  like  a  sunbeam  of  healing  flashed  into  my 
heart  with  the  next  words. 

4  Fear  thou  not :    for  I  am  with  thee :    be  not  dis 
mayed  ;  for  I  am  thy  God ;  I  will   strengthen  thee ; 
yea,  I  will  help  thee  ;  yea,  I  will  uphold  thee  with  the 
right  hand  of  my  righteousness/  — 
19* 


22?  DAISY. 

4 1,  the  Lord  thy  God,  will  hold  thy  right  hand.'  — 

I  was  healed.  I  put  up  my  little  book  in  my  bag 
again,  feeling  whole  and  sound.  It  did  not  matter 
that  I  was  crowded  and  hindered  and  watched ;  for  it 
was  written  also,  4  He  preserveth  the  way  of  his 
saints  ; '  and  I  was  safe. 

I  sat  a  little  while  longer  alone.  Then  came  a  rush 
and  rustle  of  many  feet  upon  the  stairs,  many  dresses 
moving,  many  voices  blending  in  a  little  soft  roar  ;  as 
ominous  as  the  roar  of  the  sea  which  one  hears  in  a 
shell.  My  four  room-mates  poured  into  the  room, 
accompanied  by  one  or  two  others  ;  very  busy  and 
eager  about  their  affairs  that  they  were  discussing. 
Meanwhile  they  all  began  to  put  themselves  in  order. 

'  The  bell  will  ring  for  tea  directly,'  said  Miss  Macy 
addressing  herself  to  me,  —  i  are  you  ready?  ' 

'  Tisn't  much  trouble  to  fix  her  hair  — '  said  my 
friend  with  the  black  eyes. 

Six  pair  of  eyes  for  a  moment  were  turned  upon  me. 

'  You  are  too  old  to  have  your  hair  so/  remarked 
Miss  Bentley.  '  You  ought  to  let  it  grow/ 

c  Why  don't  you?'  said  Miss  Lansing. 

'  She  is  a  Roundhead,'  said  the  St.  Clair,  brushing 
her  own  curls ;  which  were  beautiful  and  crinkled 
all  over  her  head,  while  my  hair  was  straight.  '  I  don't 
suppose  she  ever  saw  a  Cavalier  before.' 

'  St.  Glair,  you  are  too  bad ! '  said  Miss  Mary. 
'  Miss  Randolph  is  a  stranger.' 

St.  Clair  made  no  answer,  but  finished  her  hair  and 
ran  oif ;  and  presently  the  others  filed  off  after  her ; 
and  a  loud  clanging  bell  giving  the  signal,  I  thought 
best  to  go  too.  Every  room  was  pouring  forth  its  in 
mates  ;  the  halls  and  passages  were  all  alive  and 


SCHOOL.  223 

astir.     In  the  train  of  the  moving  crowd,  I  had  no 
difficulty  to  find  my  way  to  the  place  of  gathering. 

This  was  the  school  parlour ;  not  the  one  where  I 
had  seen  Mme.  Ricard.  Parlours,  rather  ;  there  was  a 
suite  of  them,  three  deep ;  for  this  part  of  the  house 
had  a  building  added  in  the  rear.  The  rooms  were 
large  and  handsome  ;  not  like  schoolrooms,  I  thought ; 
and  yet  very  different  from  my  home  ;  for  they  were 
bare.  Carpets  and  curtains,  sofas  and  chairs  and 
tables,  were  in  them  to  be  sure ;  and  even  pictures  ; 
yet  they  were  bare  ;  for  books  and  matters  of  art  and 
little  social  luxuries  were  wanting,  such  as  I  had  all  my 
life  been  accustomed  to,  and  such  as.  filled  Mme. 
Ricard's  own  rooms.  However,  this  first  evening  I 
could  hardly  see  how  the  rooms  looked,  for  the  lining 
of  humanity  which  ran  round  all  the  walls.  There  was 
a  shimmer  as  of  every  colour  in  the  rainbow ;  and  a 
buzz  that  could  only  come  from  a  hive  full.  I,  who 
had  lived  all  my  life  where  people  spoke  softly,  and 
where  many  never  spoke  together,  was  bewildered. 

The  buzz  hushed  suddenly,  and  I  saw  Mme.  Ricard's 
figure  going  slowly  down  the  rooms.  She  was  in  the 
uttermost  contrast  to  all  her  household.  Ladylike 
always,  and  always  dignified,  her  style  was  her  own, 
and  I  am  sure  that  nobody  ever  felt  that  she  had  not 
enough.  Yet  Mme.  Ricard  had  nothing  about  her 
•that  was  conformed  to  the  fashions  of  the  day.  Her 
dress  was  of  a  soft  kind  of  serge,  which  fell  around 
her  or  swept  across  the  rooms  in  noiseless  yielding 
folds.  Hoops  were  the  fashion  of  the  day  ;  but  Mme. 
Ricard  wore  no  hoops  ;  she  went  with  ease  and  silence 
where  others  went  with  a  rustle  and  a  warning  to  clear 
the  way.  The  back  of  her  head  was  covered  with  a 


224  DAISY 

little  cap  as  plain  as  a  nun's  cap ;  and  I  never  saw  an 
ornament  about  her.  Yet  criticism  never  touched 
Mme.  Ricard.  Not  even  the  criticism  of  a  set  of 
school-girls  ;  and  I  had  soon  to  learn  that  there  is 
none  more  relentless. 

The  tea-table  was  set  in  the  further  room  of  the  three. 
Mme.  Ricard  passed  down  to  that.  Presently  I  heard 
her  low  voice  saying,  'Miss  Randolph'—  Low  as 
it  always  was,  it  was  always  heard.  I  made  my  way 
down  through  the  rooms  to  her  presence  ;  and  there  I 
was  introduced  to  the  various  teachers.  Mademoiselle 
Genevieve,  Miss  Babbitt,  Mme.  Jupon,and  Miss  Dumps. 
I  could  not  examine  them  just  then.  I  felt  I  was  on 
exhibition  myself. 

4  Is  Miss  Randolph  to  come  to  me,  Madame?  '  the 
first  of  these  ladies  asked.  She  was  young,  bright, 
black-eyed,  and  full  of  energy  ;  I  saw  so  much. 

4 1  fancy  she  will  come  to  all  of  you,'  said  Madame. 
'Except  Miss  Babbitt.  You  can  write  and  read,  I 
dare  say,  Miss  Randolph  ?  '  she  went  on  with  a  smile. 
I  answered  of  course. 

4  What  have  been  your  principal  studies  for  the  past 
year  ? ' 

I  said,  mathematics,  astrononw,  and  philosophy  and 
history. 

4  Then  she  is  mine  ! '  exclaimed  Mile.  Genevieve. 
'  She  is  older  than  she  looks,'  said  Miss  Babbitt. 
4  Her  hair  is  young,  but  her  eyes  are  not,'  said  the 
former  speaker  ;  who  was  a  lively  lady. 

4  French  have  you  studied?  '  Madame  went  on. 

4  Not  so  much,'  I  said. 

4  Mme.  Jupon  will  want  you.' 

I 1  am  sure  she  is  a  good  child/  said  Mme.  Jupon, 


SCHOOL.  22i> 

who  was  a  good-natured,  plain-looking  Frenchwoman 
without  a,  particle  of  a  Frenchwoman's  grace  or  address. 
4 1  will  be  charmed  to  have  her.' 

4  You  may  go  back  to  your  place,  Miss  Randolph/ 
said  my  mistress.  4  We  will  arrange  all  the  rest  to 
morrow.' 

4  Shall  I  go  back  with  you  ? '  asked  Mile.  Genevieve. 
4  Do  yon  mind  going  alone  ? ' 

She  spoke  very  kindly,  but  I  was  at  a  loss  for  her 
meaning.  1  saw  the  kindness ;  why  it  shewed  itself 
in  such  an  offer  I  could  not  imagine. 

4 1  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  ma'am,'  —  I  began, 
when  a  little  burst  of  laughter  stopped  me.  It  came 
from  all  the  teachers  ;  even  Mme.  Ricard  was  smiling. 

4  You  are  out  for  once.  Genevieve,'  she  said. 

4  La  charmante  ! '  said  Mme.  Jupon.  4  Voyez  1'a 
plomb ! ' 

4  No,  you  don't  want  me,'  said  Mile.  Genevieve  nod 
ding.  4  Go  —  you'll  do.' 

I  went  back  to  the  upper  room,  and  presently  tea 
was  served.  I  sat  alone  ;  there  was  nobody  near  me 
who  knew  me  ;  I  had  nothing  to  do  while  munching  my 
bread  and  butter  but  to  examine  the  new  scene.  There 
was  a  great  deal  to  move  my  curiosity.  In  the  first 
place,  I  was  surprised  to  see  the  rooms  gay  with  fine 
dresses.  I  had  come  from  the  quiet  of  Magnolia,  and 
accustomed  to  the  simplicity  of  my  mother's  taste ; 
which  if  it  sometimes  adorned  me,  did  it  always  in 
subdued  fashion,  and  never  flaunted  either  its  wealth 
or  beauty.  But  on  every  side  of  me  I  beheld  startling 
costumes  ;  dresses  that  explained  my  mantua-maker's 
eagerness  about  velvet  and  green  leaves.  I  saw  that 
she  was  right ;  her  trimmings  would  have  been  4  quiet ' 


226  DAISY. 

here.  Opposite  me  was  a  brown  merino,  bordered  with 
block 3  of  blue  silk  running  round  the  skirt.  Near  it  was 
a  dress  of  brilliant  red  picked  out  with  black  cord  and 
heavy  with  large  black  buttons.  Then  a  black  dress 
caught  my  eye  which  had  an  embattled  trimming  of 
black  and  gold,  continued  round  the  waist  and  com 
pleted  with  a  large  gold  buckle.  Then  there  was  a 
grey  cashmere  with  red  stars ;  and  a  bronze-coloured 
silk  with  black  velvet  a  quarter  of  a  yard  wide  let  into 
the  skirt ;  the  body  all  of  black  velvet.  I  could  go  on, 
if  my  memory  would  serve  me.  The  rooms  were  full 
of  this  sort  of  thing.  Yet  more  than  the  dresses  the 
heads  surprised  me.  Just  at  that  time  the  style  of 
hair-dressing  was  one  of  those  st3'les  which  are  endur 
able,  and  perhaps  even  very  beautiful,  in  the  hands  of 
a  first-rate  artist  and  on  the  heads  of  the  few  women 
who  dress  well ;  but  which  are  more  and  more  hideous 
the  further  you  get  from  that  distant  pinnacle  of  the 
mode,  and  the  lower  down  they  spread  among  the  ranks 
of  society.  I  thought,  as  Hooked  from  one  to  another, 
I  had  never  seen  anything  so  ill  in  taste,  so  outraged 
in  style,  so  unspeakable  in  ugliness  as  well  as  in  pre 
tension.  I  supposed  then  it  was  the  fashion  principally 
which  was  to  blame.  Since  then,  I  have  seen  the  same 
fashion  on  one  of  those  heads  that  never  wear  anything 
but  in  good  style.  It  gathered  a  great  wealth  of  rich 
hair  into  a  mass  at  the  back  of  the  head,  yet  leaving  the 
top  and  front  of  the  hair  in  soft  waves  ;  and  the  bound 
up  mass  behind  was  loose  and  soft  and  flowed  naturally 
from  the  head  ;  it  had  no  hard  outline  nor  regular 
shape  ;  it  was  nature's  luxuriance  just  held  in  there 
from  bursting  down  over  neck  and  shoulders ;  and 
hardly  that,  for  some  locks  were  almost  escaping. 


SCHOOL.  227 

The  whole  was  to  the  utmost  simple,  natural,  graceful, 
rich.  But  these  caricatures  !  All  that  they  knew  was 
to  mass  the  hair  at  the  back  of  the  head  ;  and  that  fact 
was  attained.  But  some  looked  as  if  they  had  a  hard 
round  cannon-ball  fastened  there ;  others  suggested 
a  stuffed  pincushion,  ready  for  pins ;  others  had  a 
mortar  shell  in  place  of  a  cannon-ball,  the  size  was  so 
enormous ;  in  nearly  all,  the  hair  was  strained  tight 
over  or  under  something;  in  not  one  was  there  an 
effect  which  the  originator  of  the  fashion  would  not 
have  abhorred.  Girlish  grace  was  nowhere  to  be  seen, 
either  in  heads  or  persons ;  girlish  simplicity  had  no 
place.  It  was  a  school ;  but  the  company  looked  fit 
ter  for  the  stiff  assemblages  of  ceremony  that  should  be 
twenty  years  later  in  their  lives. 

My  heart  grew  very  blank.  I  felt  unspeakably 
alone ;  not  merely  because  there  was  nobody  there 
whom  I  knew,  but  because  there  was  nobody  whom  it 
seemed  to  me  I  ever  should  know.  I  took  my  tea  and 
bits  of  bread  and  butter,  feeling  forlorn.  A  year  in 
that  place  seemed  to  me  longer  than  I  could  bear.  I 
had  exchanged  my  King  Log  for  King  Stork. 

It  was  some  relief  when  after  tea  we  were  separated 
into  other  rooms  and  sat  down  to  study.  But  I 
dreamed  over  my  book.  I  wondered  how  heads  could 
study  that  had  so  much  trouble  on  the  outside.  I 
wandered  over  the  seas  to  that  spot  somewhere  that 
was  marked  by  the  ship  that  carried  my  father  and 
mother.  Only  now  going  out  towards  China ;  and 
how  long  months  might  pass  before  China  would  be 
clone  with  and  the  ship  be  bearing  them  back  again. 
The  lesson  given  me  that  night  was  not  difficult 
enough  to  bind  my  attention  ;  and  my  heart  grew  very 


228  DAISY. 

heavy.  So  heavy,  that  I  felt  I  must  find  help  some 
where.  And  when  one's  need  is  so  shut  in,  then  it 
looks  in  the  right  quarter  —  the  only  one  left  open. 

My  little  book  was  up  stairs  in  my  bag ;  but  my 
thoughts  flew  to  my  page  of  that  day  and  the  '  Fear 
thou  not,  for  I  am  with  thee.'  Nobody  knows,  who 
has  not  wanted  them,  how  good  those  words  are.  No 
body  else  can  understand  how  sweet  they  were  to  me. 
I  lost  for  a  little  all  sight  of  the  study  table  and  the 
faces  round  it.  I  just  remembered  who  was  WITH  ME  ; 
in  the  freedom  and  joy  of  that  presence' both  fears  and 
loneliness  seemed  to  fade  away.  '  I,  the  Lord,  will 
hold  thy  right  hand.'  Yes,  and  I,  a  poor  little  child, 
put  my  hand  in  the  hand  of  my  great  Leader,  and  felt 
safe  and  strong. 

I  found  very  soon  I  had  enemies  to  meet  that  I  had 
not  yet  reckoned  with.  The  night  passed  peacefully 
enough ;  and  the  next  day  I  was  put  in  the  school 
room  and  found  my  place  in  the  various  classes.  The 
schoolrooms  were  large  and  pleasant ;  large  they  had 
need  to  be,  for  the  number  of  day  scholars  who  at 
tended  in  them  was  very  great.  They  were  many  as 
well  as  spacious  ;  different  ages  being  parted  off  from 
each  other.  Besides  the  schoolrooms  proper,  there 
were  rooms  for  recitation,  where  the  classes  met  their 
teachers ;  so  we  had  the  change  and  variety  of  mov 
ing  from  one  part  of  the  house  to  another.  We  met 
Mile.  Genevieve  in  one  room,  for  mathematics  and 
Italian ;  Mme.  Jupon  in  another,  for  French.  Miss 
Dumps  seized  us  in  another,  for  writing  and  geogra 
phy,  and  made  the  most  of  us  ;  she  was  a  severe  little 
person  in  her  teaching  and  in  her  discipline;  but  she 
was  good.  We  called  her  Miss  Miria,  in  general. 


SCHOOL.  229 

Miss  Babbitt  had  the  history  ;  and  she  did  nothing  to 
make  it  intelligible  or  interesting.  My  best  historical 
times  thus  far,  by  much,  had  been  over  my  clay  map 
and  my  red -headed  and  black-headed  pins,  studying 
the  changes  of  England  and  her  people.  But  Mile. 
Genevieve  put  a  new  life  into  mathematics.  I  could 
never  love  the  study ;  but  she  made  it  a  great  deal 
better  than  Miss  Pinshon  made  it.  Indeed  I  believe 
that  to  learn  anything  under  Mile.  Genevieve,  would 
have  been  pleasant.  She  had  so  much  fire  and  energy ; 
she  taught  with  such  a  will ;  her  black  eyes  were  so 
keen  both  for  her  pupils  and  her  subject.  One  never 
thought  of  the  discipline  in  Mile.  Genevieve' s  room,  but 
only  of  the  study.  I  was  young  to  be  there,  in  the 
class  where  she  put  me  ;  but  my  training  had  fitted  me 
for  it.  With  Mine.  Jupon  also  I  had  an  easy  time. 
She  was  good,  nature  itself,  and  from  the  first  shewed 
a  particular  favour  and  liking  for  me.  And  as  I  had 
no  sort  of  wish  to  break  rules,  with  Miss  Maria  too  I 
got  on  well.  It  was  out  of  school  and  out  of  study 
hours  that  my  difficulties  came  upon  me. 

For  a  day  or  two  I  did  not  meet  them.  I  was  busy 
with  the  school  routine,  and  beginning  already  to  take 
pleasure  in  it.  Knowledge  was  to  be  had  here ;  lay 
waiting  to  be  gathered  up ;  and  that  gathering  I 
alwa}Ts  enjoyed.  Miss  Pinshon  had  kept  me  on  short 
allowance.  It  was  the  third  or  fourth  day  after  my 
arrival,  that  going  up  after  dinner  to  get  ready  for  a 
walk  I  missed  my  chinchilla  cap  from  its  peg.  I 
sought  for  it  in  vain. 

'  Come,   Daisy/  said  Miss  Lansing,    *  make  haste. 
Babbitt  will  be  after  you  directly  if  you  aren't  ready. 
Put  on  3rour  cap.' 
20 


230  DAISY. 

1 1  can't  find  it,'  I  said.  4 1  left  it  here,  in  its  place, 
but  I  can't  find  it.' 

There  was  a  burst  of  laughter  from  three  of  my 
room-mates,  as  Miss  St.  Clair  danced  out  from  the 
closet  with  the  cap  on  her  own  brows ;  and  then 
with  a  caper  of  agility,  taking  it  off,  flung  it  up  to  the 
chandelier,  where  it  hung  on  one  of  the  burners. 

'  For  shame,  Faustina,  that's  too  bad.  How  can  she 
get  it  ? '  said  Miss  Bentley. 

4 1  don't  want  her  to  get  it,'  said  the  St.  Clair  coolly. 

4  Then  how  can  she  go  to  walk  ? ' 

4 1  don't  want  her  to  go  to  walk.' 

4  Faustina,  that  isn't  right.  Miss  Randolph  is  a 
stranger ;  you  shouldn't  play  tricks  on  her/ 

4  Roundheads  were  always  revolutionists,'  said  the 
girl  recklessly.  4  A  la  lanterne  !  Heads  or  hats  —  it 
don't  signify  which.  That  is  an  example  of  what  our 
Madame  calls  44  symbolism." ' 

4  Hush  —  sh  !  Madame  would  call  it  something  else. 
Now  how  are  we  going  to  get  the  cap  down  ? ' 

For  the  lamp  hung  high,  haying  been  pushed  up  out 
of  reach  for  the  day.  The  St.  Clair  ran  off,  and  Miss 
Macy  followed  ;  but  the  two  others  consulted,  and 
Lansing  ran  down  to  waylay  the  chambermaid  and 
beg  a  broom.  By  the  help  of  the  broom  handle  my 
cap  was  at  length  dislodged  from  its  perch,  and  re 
stored  to  me.  But  I  was  angry.  I  felt  the  fiery  cur 
rent  running  through  my  veins ;  and  the,  unspeakable 
saucy  glance  of  St.  Glair's  eye,  as  I  passed  her  to  take 
my  place  in  the  procession,  threw  fuel  on  the  fire.  I 
think  for  j-ears  I  had  not  been  angry  in  such  a  fashion. 
The  indignation  I  had  at  different  times  felt  against 
the  overseer  at  Magnolia  was  a  justifiable  thing.  Now 


SCHOOL.  231 

I  was  angry  and  piqued.  The  feeling  was  new  to  me. 
I  had  been  without  it  very  long.  I  swallowed  the 
ground  with  my  feet  during  that  walk  ;  but  before  the 
walk  came  to  an  end  the  question  began  to  come  up  in 
my  mind,  what  was  the  matter?  and  whether  I  did 
well  ?  These  sprinklings  of  water  on  the  flame  I  think 
made  it  leap  into  new  life  at  first ;  but  as  they  came 
and  came  again,  I  had  more  to  think  about  than  St. 
Clair,  when  I  got  back  to  the  house.  Yes,  and  as  we 
were  all  taking  off  our  things  together  I  was  conscious 
that  I  shunned  her ;  that  the  sight  of  her  was  disa 
greeable  ;  and  that  I  would  have  liked  to  visit  some 
gentle  punishment  upon  her  careless  head.  The  bus 
tle  of  business  swallowed  up  the  feeling  for  the  rest  of 
the  time  till  we  went  to  bed. 

But  then  it  rose  very  fresh,  and  I  began  to  question 
myself  about  it  in  the  silence  and  darkness.  Finding 
myself  inclined  to  justify  myself,  I  bethought  me  to 
try  this  new  feeling  by  some  of  the  words  I  had  been 
studying  in  my  little  book  for  a  few  days  past.  '  The 
entrance  of  thy  words  giveth  light '  —  was  the  leading 
text  for  the  day  that  had  just  gone  ;  now  I  thought  I 
would  try  it  in  my  difficulty.  The  very  next  words  on 
the  page,  I  remembered  were  these. 

'  God  is  light,  and  in  him  is  no  darkness  at  all.' 
It  came  into  my  mind  as  soon,  that  this  feeling  of 
anger  and  resentment  which  troubled  me  had  to  do 
with  darkness,  not  with  the  light.  In  vain  I  reasoned 
to  prove  the  contrary ;  I  felt  dark.  I  could  not  look 
up  to  that  clear  white  light  where  God  dwells,  and  feel 
at  all  that  I  was  '  walking  in  the  light  as  he  is  in  the 
light.'  Clearly  Daisy  Randolph  was  out  of  the  wa}^. 
And  I  we:it  on  with  bitterness  of  heart  to  the  next 


DAISY. 

words  —  'Ye  were  sometime  darkness,  but  now  are  ye 
light  in  the  Lord  ;  walk  as  children  of  light.' 

And  what  then  ?  was  I  to  pass  by  quietly  the  inso 
lence  of  St.  Clair  ?  was  I  to  take  it  quite  quietly,  and 
give  no  sign  even  of  annoyance?  take  no  means  of 
shewing  my  displeasure,  or  of  putting  a  stop  to  the 
naughtiness  that  called  it  forth?  My  mind  put  these 
questions  impatiently,  and  still,  as  it  did  so,  an 
answer  came  from  somewhere,  — 4  Walk  as  children 
of  light.'  I  knew  that  children  of  light  would  reprove 
darkness  only  with  light ;  and  a  struggle  began. 
Other  words  came  into  my  head  then,  which  made  the 
matter  only  clearer.  4  If  any  man  smite  thee  on  the 
one  cheek,  turn  to  him  the  other/  '  Love  your  ene 
mies.'  Ah,  but  how  could  I?  with  what  should  I 
put  out  this  fire  kindled  in  my  heart,  which  seemed 
only  to  burn  the  fiercer  whatever  I  threw  upon  it? 
And  then,  other  words  still  came  sweeping  upon  me 
with  their  sweetness,  and  I  remembered  who  had  said, 
4 1  will  strengthen  thee  ;  yea,  I  will  help  thee.'  I 
softly  got  out  of  bed,  wrapped  the  coverlid  round  me, 
and  knelt  down  to  pray.  For  I  had  no  time  to  lose. 
To-morrow  I  must  meet  my  little  companion,  and  to 
morrow  I  must  be  ready  to  walk  as  a  child  of  light, 
and  to-night  the  fires  of  darkness  were  burning  in  my 
heart.  I  was  long  on  my  knees.  I  remember,  in  a 
kind  of  despair  at  last  I  flung  myself  on  the  word  of 
Jesus,  and  cried  to  him  as  Peter  did  when  he  saw  the 
wind  boisterous.  I  remember,  how  the  fire  died  out 
in  my  heart,  till  the  very  coals  were  dead ;  and  how 
the  day  and  the  sunlight  came  stealing  in,  till  it  was 
all  sunshine.  I  gave  my  thanks,  and  got  into  bed, 
and  slept  without  a  break  the  rest  of  the  night. 


A  PLACE  IN  THE    WORLD.  233 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A    PLACE   IN  THE  WORLD. 

I  WAS  a  humbler  child  when  I  got  out  of  bed  the 
next  morning,  I  think,  than  ever  I  had  been  in  my  life 
before.  But  I  had  another  lesson  to  learn. 

I  was  not  angry  any  more  at  Miss  St.  Clair.  That 
was  gone.  Even  when  she  did  one  or  two  other  mis 
chievous  things  to  me,  the  rising  feeling  of  offence 
was  quickly  got  under ;  and  I  lived  in  great  charity 
with  her.  My  new  lesson  was  of  another  sort. 

Two  or  three  da}^s  passed,  and  then  came  Sunday. 
It  was  never  a  comfortable  day  at  Mme.  Ricard's. 
We  all  went  to  church  of  course,  under  the  care  of  one 
or  other  of  the  teachers  ;  and  we  had  our  choice  where 
to  go.  Miss  Babbitt  went  to  a  Presbyterian  church. 
Miss  Maria  to  a  high  Episcopal.  Mme.  Jupon  at 
tended  a  little  French  Protestant  chapel ;  and  Mile. 
Genevieve  and  Mme.  Kicard  went  to  the  Catholic 
church.  The  first  Sunday  I  had  gone  with  them,  not 
knowing  at  all  whither.  I  found  that  would  not  do ; 
and  since  then  I  had  tried  the  other  parties.  But  I 
was  in  a  strait ;  for  Miss  Maria's  church  seemed  to  me 
a  faded  image  of  Mile.  Genevieve's  ;  the  Presbyterian 
church  which  Miss  Babbitt  went  to  was  stiff  and  dull ; 
I  was  not  at  home  in  either  of  them,  and  could  not  un 
derstand  or  enjoy  what  was  spoken.  The  vory  music 
20* 


234  DAISY. 

had  an  air  of  incipient  petrification,  if  I  can  speak  so 
about  sounds.  At  the  little  French  chapel  I  could  as 
little  comprehend  the  words  that  were  uttered.  But 
in  the  pulpit  tliere  was  a  man  with  a  shining  face ;  a 
face  full  of  love  and  truth  and  earnestness.  He  spoke 
out  of  his  heart,  and  no  set  words ;  and  the  singing 
was  simple  and  sweet  and  the  hymns  beautiful.  I 
could  understand  them,  for  I  had  the  hymn-book  in  my 
hands.  Also  I  had  the  French  Bible,  and  Mme.  Ju- 
pon,  delighted  to  have  me  with  her,  assured  me  that 
if  I  listened  I  would  very  soon  begin  to  understand 
the  minister's  preaching  just  as  well  as  if  it  were  Eng 
lish.  So  I  went  with  Mme.  Jupon,  and  thereby  lost 
some  part  of  Mile.  Genevieve's  favour  ;  but  that  I  did 
not  understand  till  afterwards. 

We  had  all  been  to  church  as  usual,  this  Sunday, 
and  we  were  taking  off  our  hats  and  things  up  stairs, 
after  the  second  service.  My  simple  toilet  was  soon 
made  ;  and  I  sat  upon  the  side  of  my  little  bed,  watch 
ing  those  of  my  companions.  They  were  a  contrast 
to  mine.  The  utmost  that  money  could  do,  to  bring 
girls  into  the  fashion,  was  done  for  these  girls  ;  for  the 
patrons  of  Mme.  Eicard's  establishment  were  nearly 
all  rich.  Costly  coats  and  cloaks,  heavy  trimmed, 
were  surmounted  with  every  variety  of  showy  head 
gear,  in  every  variety  of  unsuitableness.  To  study 
bad  taste,  one  would  want  no  better  field  than  the 
heads  of  Mme.  Ricard's  seventy  boarders  dressed  for 
church.  Not  that  the  articles  which  were  worn  on  the 
heads  were  always  bad ;  some  of  them  came  from 
irreproachable  workshops ;  but  there  was  everywhere 
the  bad  taste  of  overdressing,  and  nowhere  the  tact 
of  appropriation.  The  hats  were  all  on  the  wrong 


A    PLACE   IN   THE    WORLD.  235 

heads.  Everybody  was  a  testimony  of  what  money 
can  do  without  art.  I  sat  on  my  little  bed,  vaguely 
speculating  on  all  this  as  I  watched  my  companions' 
disrobing;  at  intervals  humming  the  sweet  French 
melody  to  which  the  last  hymn  had  been  sung;  when 
St.  Clair  paused  in  her  talk  and  threw  a  glance  in  my 
direction.  It  lighted  on  my  plain  plaid  frock  and  un 
dressed  hair. 

'  Don't  you  come  from  the  country,  Miss  Ran 
dolph?'  she  said,  insolently  enough. 

I  answered  yes.  And  I  remembered  what  my  man- 
tua-maker  had  said. 

1  Did  you  have  that  dress  made  there  ? ' 

'For  shame,  St.  Clair!'  said  Miss  Bentley ;  'let 
Miss  Randolph  alone.  I  am  sure  her  dress  is  very 
neat.' 

'  I  wonder  if  women  don't  wear  long  hair  where  she 
came  from  — '  said  the  girl  turning  away  from  me 
again.  The  others  laughed. 

I  was  as  little  pleased  at  that  moment  with  the  de 
fence  as  with  the  attack.  The  instant  thought  in  my 
mind  was,  that  Miss  Bentlej7'  knew  no  more  how  to 
conduct  the  one  than  Miss  St.  Clair  to  make  the 
other ;  if  the  latter  had  no  civility,  the  first  had  no 
style.  Now  the  St.  Clair  was  one  of  the  best  dressed 
girls  in  school  and  came  from  one  of  the  most  impor 
tant  families.  I  thought,  if  she  knew  where  I  came 
from,  and  who  my  mother  was,  she  would  change  her 
tone.  Nevertheless,  I  wished  mamma  would  order  me 
to  let  my  hair  grow,  and  I  began  to  think  whether  I 
might  not  do  it  without  order.  And  I  thought  also 
that  the  spring  was  advancing,  and  warm  weather 
would  soon  be  upon  us  ;  and  that  these  girls  would 


236  DAIST. 

change  their  talk  and  their  opinion  about  me  when 
they  saw  my  summer  frocks.  There  was  nothing  like 
them  in  all  the  school.  I  ran  over  in  my  mind  their 
various  elegance,  of  texture,  and  lace,  and  fine  em 
broidery,  and  graceful,  simple  drapery.  And  also  I 
thought,  if  these  girls  could  see  Magnolia,  its  magnifi 
cent  oaks,  and  its  acres  of  timber,  and  its  sweeps  of 
rich  fields,  and  its  troops  of  servants,  their  minds 
would  be  enlightened  as  to  me  and  my  belongings. 

These  meditations  were  a  mixture  of  comfort  and 
discomfort  to  me ;  but  on  the  whole  I  was  not  com 
fortable.  This  process  of  comparing  myself  with  my 
neighbours,  I  was  not  accustomed  to ;  and  even 
though  its  results  were  so  favourable  I  did  not  like  it. 
Neither  did  I  quite  relish  living  under  a  cloud ;  and 
my  eyes  being  a  little  sharpened  now,  I  could  see  that 
not  by  my  young  companions  alone,  but  by  every  one 
of  the  four  teachers,  I  was  looked  upon  as  a  harmless 
little  girl  whose  mother  knew  nothing  about  the  fash 
ionable  world.  I  do  not  think  that  anything  in  my 
manner  shewed  either  my  pique  or  my  disdain  ;  I  be 
lieve  I  went  about  just  as  usual ;  but  these  things 
were  often  in  my  thoughts,  and  taking  by  degrees 
more  room  in  them. 

It  was  not  till  the  Sunday  came  round  again,  that 
I  got  any  more  light.  The  afternoon  service  was 
over ;  we  had  come  home  and  laid  off  our  bonnets  and 
cloaks ;  for  though  we  were  in  April  it  was  cold  and 
windy  ;  and  my  schoolfellows  had  all  gone  down  stairs 
to  the  parlour,  where  they  had  the  privilege  of  doing 
what  they  pleased  before  tea.  I  was  left  alone.  It 
was  almost  my  only  time  for  being  alone  in  the  whole 
week.  I  had  an  hour  then  ;  and  I  used  to  spend  it  in 


A   PLACE  IN   TRE    WORLD.  237 

my  bedroom  with  my  Bible.  To-day  1  was  reading 
the  first  epistle  of  John,  which  I  was  very  fond  of, 
and  as  my  custom  was,  not  reading  merely,  but  pon 
dering  and  praying  over  the  words  verse  by  verse. 
So  I  found  that  I  understood  them  better  and  enjoyed 
them  a  great  deal  more.  I  came  to  these  words,  — 

'  Behold,  what  manner  of  love  the  Father  hath  be 
stowed  upon  us,  that  we  should  be  called  the  sons  of 
God ;  therefore  the  world  knoweth  us  not,  because  it 
knew  him  not.' 

I  had  dwelt  some  time  upon  the  first  part  of  the 
verse,  forgetting  all  my  discomforts  of  the  week  past ; 
and  came  in  due  course  to  the  next  words.  I  never 
shall  forget  how  they  swept  in  upon  me.  4  The  world 
knoweth  us  not.'  —  What  did  that  mean  ?  l  Because  it 
knew  him  not.*  How  did  it  not  know  him  ?  He  was 
in  the  midst  of  men ;  he  lived  no  hidden  life ;  the 
world  knew  him  well  enough  as  a  benefactor,  a 
teacher,  a  reprover ;  in  what  sense  did  it  not  know 
him  ?  And  I  remembered,  it  did  not  know  him  as  one 
of  its  own  party.  He  was  4  this  fellow/  —  and  4  the 
deceiver ; '  —  'the  Nazarene  ; '  '  they  called  the  mas 
ter  of  the  house  Beelzebub.'  And  so,  the  world 
knoweth  us  not ;  and  I  knew  well  enough  why ;  be 
cause  we  must  be  like  him.  And  then,  I  found  an 
unwillingness  in  myself  to  have  these  words  true  of 
me.  I  had  been  very  satisfied  under  the  slighting 
tones  and  looks  of  the  little  world  around  me,  think 
ing  that  they  were  mistaken  and  would  by  and  by 
know  it ;  they  would  know  that  in  all  that  they  held 
so  dear,  of  grace  and  fashion  and  elegance  and  dis 
tinguished  appearance,  my  mother,  and  of  course  I, 
were  not  only  their  match  but  above  them.  Now 


238  DAISY. 

must  I  be  content  to  have  them  never  know  it  I  But, 
1  thought,  I  could  not  help  their  seeing  the  fact ;  if  I 
dressed  as  my  mother's  child  was  accustomed  to  dress, 
they  would  know  what  sphere  of  life  I  belonged  to. 
And  then  the  words  bore  down  upon  me  again,  with 
their  uncompromising  distinctness,  —  'the  world  know- 
eth  us  not.'  I  saw  it  was  a  mark  and  character  of 
those  that  belonged  to  Christ.  I  saw  that,  if  I  be 
longed  to  him,  the  world  must  not  know  me.  The 
conclusion  was  very  plain.  And  to  secure  the  conclu 
sion,  the  way  was  very  plain  too ;  I  must  simply  not 
be  like  the  world.  I  must  not  be  of  the  world;  and 
I  must  let  it  be  known  that  I  was  not. 

Face  to  face  with  the  issue,  I  started  back.  For 
not  to  be  of  the  world,  meant,  not  to  follow  their  ways. 
I  did  not  want  to  follow  some  of  their  ways  ;  I  had  no 
desire  to  break  the  Sabbath,  for  example ;  but  I  did 
like  to  wear  pretty  and  elegant  and  expensive  things, 
and  fashionable  things.  It  is  very  true,  I  had  just 
denied  myself  this  pleasure,  and  bought  a  plain  dress 
and  coat  that  did  not  charm  me ;  but  that  was  in 
favour  of  Margaret  and  to  save  money  for  her.  And 
I  had  no  objection  to  do  the  same  thing  again  and 
again,  for  the  same  motive  ;  and  to  deny  myself  to  the 
end  of  the  chapter,  so  long  as  others  were  in  need. 
But  that  was  another  matter  from  shaking  hands  with 
the  world  at  once,  and  being  willing  that  for  all  my 
life  it  should  never  know  me  as  one  of  those  whom  it 
honoured.  Never  knvw  me,  in  fact.  I  must  be  some 
thing  out  of  the  world's  consciousness,  and  of  no  im 
portance  to  it.  And  to  begin  with,  I  must  never  try 
to  enlighten  my  schoolfellows'  eyes  about  myself. 
Let  them  think  that  Daisy  Randolph  came  from  some- 


A  PLACE  IN  THE    WORLD.  239 

where  in  the  country,  and  was  accustomed  to  wear  no 
better  dresses  in  ordinary  than  her  school  plaid.  Let 
them  never  be  aware  that  I  had  ponies  and  servants 
and  lands  and  treasures.  Nay,  the  force  of  the  words 
I  had  read  went  further  than  that.  I  felt  it,  down  in 
my  heart.  Not  only  I  must  take  no  measures  to  pro 
claim  my  title  to  the  world's  regard ;  but  I  must  be 
such  and  so  unlike  it  in  my  whole  way  of  life,  dress 
and  all,  that  the  world  would  not  wish  to  recognize 
me,  nor  have  anything  to  do  with  me. 

I  counted  the  cost  now,  and  it  seemed  heavy. 
There  was  Miss  Bentley,  with  her  clumsy  finery,  put 
on  as  it  were  one  dollar  above  the  other.  She  patron 
ized  me,  as  a  little  country-girl  who  knew  nothing. 
Must  I  not  undeceive  her?  There  was  Faustina  St. 
Clair,  really  of  a  good  family,  and  insolent  on  the 
strength  of  it ;  must  I  never  let  her  know  that  mine 
was  as  good,  and  that  my  mother  had  as  much  knowl 
edge  of  the  proprieties  and  elegancies  of  life  as  ever 
hers  had  ?  These  girls  and  plenty  of  the  others  looked 
down  upon  me  as  something  inferior ;  not  belonging 
to  their  part  of  society  ;  must  I  be  content  henceforth 
to  live  so  simply  that  these  and  others  who  judge  by 
the  outside  would  never  be  any  wiser  as  .to  what  I 
really  was?  Something  in  me  rebelled.  Yet  the 
words  I  had  been  reading  were  final  and  absolute. 
'The  world  knoweth  us  not;9  and  'us,'  I  knew, 
meant  the  little  band  in  whose  hearts  Christ  is  king. 
Surely  I  was  one  of  them.  But  I  was  unwilling  to 
slip  out  of  the  world's  view  and  be  seen  by  it  no  more. 
I  struggled. 

It  was  something  very  new  in  my  experience.  I 
had  certainly  felt  struggles  of  duty  in  other  times,  but 


240  DAISY. 

they  had  never  lasted  long.  This  lasted.  With  an  eye 
made  keen  by  conscience,  I  looked  now  in  my  reading 
to  see  what  else  I  might  find  that  would  throw  light  on 
the  matter  and  perhaps  soften  off  the  uncompromising 
decision  of  the  words  of  St.  John.  By  and  by  I  came 
to  these  words : 

'  If  ye  were  of  the  world,  the  world  would  love  his 
own.  But  because  ye  are  not  of  the  world,  but  I  have 
chosen  you  out  of  the  world,  therefore  the  world  hateth 
you: 

I  shut  the  book.  The  issue  could  not  be  more 
plainly  set  forth.  I  must  choose  between  the  one 
party  and  the  other.  Nay,  I  had  chosen;  —  but  I 
must  agree  to  belong  but  to  one. 

Would  anybody  say  that  a  child  could  not  have  such 
a  struggle  ?  that  fourteen  years  do  not  know  yet  what 
4  the  world '  means  ?  Alas,  it  is  a  relative  term  ;  and 
a  child's  'world*  may  be  as  mighty  for  her  to  face, 
as  any  other  she  will  ever  know.  I  think  I  never 
found  any  more  formidable.  Moreover,  it  is  less  un 
like  the  big  world  than  some  would  suppose. 

On  the  corner  of  the  street  just  opposite  to  our  win 
dows,  stood  a  large  handsome  house  which  we  always 
noticed  for  its  flowers.  The  house  stood  in  a  little 
green  courtyard,  exquisitely  kept,  which  at  one  side 
and  behind  gave  room  for  several  patches  of  flower 
beds,  at  this  time  filled  with  bulbous  plants.  I  always 
lingered  as  much  as  I  could  in  passing  the  iron  railings, 
to  have  a  peep  at  the  beauty  within.  The  grass  was 
now  of  a  delicious  green,  and  the  tulips  and  hyacinths 
and  crocuses  were  in  full  bloom,  in  their  different 
oval-shaped  beds,  framed  in  with  the  green.  Besides 
these,  from  the  windows  of  a  greenhouse  that 


A   PLACE   IN   THE    WOULD.  241 

sketched  back  along  the  street,  there  looked  over 
a  brilliant  array  of  other  beauty ;  I  could  not  tell 
what ;  great  bunches  of  scarlet  and  tufts  of  white  and 
gleamings  of  yellow,  that  made  me  long  to  be  there. 

4  Who  lives  in  that  house  ? '  Miss  Bentley  asked  one 
evening.  It  was  the  hour  before  tea,  and  we  were  all 
at  our  room  windows  gazing  down  into  the  avenue. 

4  Why  don't  you  know  ? '  said  slow  Miss  Macy. 
*  That's  Miss  Cardigan's  house.' 

'  I  wonder  who  she  is,'  said  Miss  Lansing.  '  It 
isn't  a  New  York  name.' 

4  Yes,  it  is,'  said  Macy.  4  She's  lived  there  forever. 
She  used  to  be  there,  and  her  flowers,  when  I  was  four 
years  old.' 

4 1  guess  she  isn't  anybody,  is  she  ? '  said  Miss 
Bentley.  c  I  never  see  any  carriages  at  her  door. 
Hasn't  she  a  carriage  of  her  own,  I  wonder,  or  how 
does  she  travel?  Such  a  house  ought  to  have  a  car 
riage.' 

4  I'll  tell  you,'  said  the  St.  Clair,  coolly  as  usual. 
4  She  goes  out  in  a  wagon  with  an  awning  to  it.  /She 
don't  know  anything  about  carriages.' 

4  But  she  must  have  money,  you  know,'  urged  Miss 
Bentley.  4  She  couldn't  keep  up  that  house,  and  the 
flowers,  and  the  greenhouse  and  all,  without  money.' 

4  She's  got  mone}Y  said  the  St.  Clair.  4  Her  mother 
made  it  selling  cabbages  in  the  market.  Very  likely 
she  sold  flowers  too.' 

There  was  a  general  exclamation  and  laughter  at 
what  was  supposed  to  be  one  of  St.  Glair's  flights  of 
mischief;  but  the  young  lady  stood  her  ground  calmly, 
and  insisted  that  it  was  a  thing  well  known.  4  My 
grandmother  used  to  buy  vegetables  from  ol 
21 


242  DAISY. 

Cardigan  when  we  lived  in  Broadway,'  she  said.  4  It's 
quite  true.  That's  why  she  knows  nothing  about 
carriages.' 

4  That  sort  of  thing  don't  hinder  other  people  from 
having  carriages,'  said  Miss  Lansing.  '  There's  Mr. 
Mason,  next  door  to  Miss  Cardigan,  —  his  father  was 
a  tailor  ;  and  the  Steppes,  two  doors  off,  do  you  know 
what  they  were?  They  were  millers,  a  little  way  out 
of  town ;  nothing  else  ;  had  a  mill  and  ground  flour. 
They  made  a  fortune  I  suppose,  and  now  here  they  are 
in  the  midst  of  other  people.' 

4  Plenty  of  carriages,  too/  said  Miss  Macy ;  *  and 
everything  else.' 

*  After  all,'  said  Miss  Bentley  after  pause,  4  I  sup 
pose  everybody's  money  had  to  be  made  somehow,  in 
the  first  instance.  I  suppose  all  the  Millers  in  the 
world  came  from  real  millers  once ;  and  the  Wheel 
wrights  from  wheelwrights.' 

4  And  what  a  world  of  smiths  there  must  have  been, 
first  and  last,'  said  Miss  Lansing.  4  The  world  is  full 
of  their  descendants.' 

4  Everybody's  money  wasn't  made,  though,'  said  the 
St.  Clair,  with  an  inexpressible  attitude  of  her  short 
upper  lip. 

4  I  guess  it  was,  —  if  you  go  back  far  enough,'  said 
Miss  Macy,  whom  nothing  disturbed.  But  I  saw  that 
while  Miss  Lansing  and  Miss  St.  Clair  were  at  ease  in 
the  foregoing  conversation,  Miss  Bentley  was  not. 

4  You  can't  go  back  far  enough,'  said  the  St.  Clair 
haughtily. 

4  How  then  ?  '  said  the  other.  4  How  do  you  accour' 
for  it  ?  Where  did  their  money  come  from  ? ' 


A   PLACE  IN  THE    WOULD.  243 

'It  grew,'  said  the  St.  Clair  ineffably.  '  They  were 
lords  of  the  soil/ 

4  Oh !  —  But  it  had  to  be  dug  out,  I  suppose/  said 
Miss  Macy. 

*  There  were  others  to  do  that.' 

1  After  all,'  said  Miss  Macy,  l  how  is  money  that 
grew  any  better  than  money  that  is  made  ?  It  is  all 
made  by  somebody,  too/ 

I  If  it  is  made   by  somebody   else,   it  leaves  your 
hands  clean,'  the  St.  Clair  answered,  with  an  insolence 
worthy  of  maturer  years  ;  for  Miss  Macy's  family  had 
grown  rich  by  trade.     She  was  of  a  slow  temper  how 
ever  and  did  not  take  fire. 

4  My  grandfather's  hands  were  clean,'  she  said  ;  '  yet 
he  made  his  own  money.  Honest  hands  always  are 
clean/ 

4  Do  you  suppose  Miss  Cardigan's  were  when  she 
was  handling  her  cabbages?  '  said  St.  Clair.  '  I  have 
no  doubt  Miss  Cardigan's  house  smells  of  cabbages 
now/ 

4  O   St.  Clair ! '  —  Miss  Lansing  said  laughing. 

I 1  always  smell   them  when   I   go  past,'   said   the 
other,  elevating  her  scornful  little  nose  ;  it  was  a  hand 
some  nose  too. 

4 1  don't  think  it  makes  any  difference,'  said  Miss 
Bentley,  4  provided  people  have  money,  how  they  came 
by  it.  Money  buys  the  same  things  for  one  that  it 
does  for  another/ 

4  Now  my  good  Bentley,  that  is  just  what  it  don'£,' 
said  St.  Clair,  drumming  upon  the  window-pane  with 
the  tips  of  her  fingers. 

4  Why  not?' 

'  Because  !  —  people   that  have   always  had  money 


244  DAISY. 

know  how  to  use  it ;  and  people  that  have  just  come 
into  their  money,  don't  know.  You  can  tell  the  one 
from  the  other  as  far  off  as  the  head  of  the  avenue/ 

'  But  what  is  to  hinder  their  going  to  the  same  mil 
liner  and  mantua-maker,  for  instance,  or  the  same 
cabinet-maker,  —  and  buying  the  same  things?' 

'Or  the  same  jeweller,  or  the  same  —  anything? 
So  they  could,  if  they  knew  which  they  were.' 

4  Which  what  were  ?  It  is  easy  to  tell  which  is  a 
fashionable  milliner,  or  mantua-maker;  everybody 
knows  that.' 

4  It  don't  do  some  people  any  good,'  said  St.  Clair 
turning  away.  '  When  they  get  in  the  shop,  they  do 
not  know  what  to  buy  ;  and  if  they  buy  it  they  can't 
put  it  on.  People  that  are  not  fashionable  can't  be 
fashionable.' 

I  saw  the  glance  that  fell,  scarcely  touching,  on 
my  plain  plaid  frock.  I  was  silly  enough  to  feel  it 
too.  I  was  unused  to  scorn.  St.  Clair  returned  to 
the  window,  perhaps  sensible  that  she  had  gone  a 
little  too  far. 

4 1  can  tell  you  now/  she  said,'  what  that  old  Miss 
Cardigan  has  got  in  her  house  — just  as  well  as  if  I 
saw  it.' 

4  Did  you  ever  go  in  ? '  said  Lansing  eagerly. 

4  We  don't  visit,'  said  the  other.  4  But  I  can  tell 
you,  just  as  well ;  and  you  can  send  Daisy  Randolph 
some  day  to  see  if  it  is  true.' 

4  Well,  go  on,  St.  Clair  — what  is  there?'  said  Miss 
Macy. 

4  There's  a  marble  hall  of  course ;  that  the  mason 
built ;  it  isn't  her  fault.  Then  in  the  parlours  there 
are  thick  carpets,  that  cost  a  great  deal  of  money  and 


A   PLACE   IN   THE    WORLD.  245 

are  a?  ugly  as  they  can  be,  with  every  colour  in  the 
world.  The  furniture  is  red  satin,  or  maybe  blue, 
staring  bright,  against  a  light  green  wall  panelled  with 
gold.  The  ceilings  are  gold  and  white,  with  enormous 
chandeliers.  On  the  wall  there  are  some  very  big  pic 
ture  frames,  with  nothing  in  them  —  to  speak  of;  there 
is  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  with  a  marble  top, 
and  the  piers  are  filled  with  mirrors  down  to  the  floor ; 
and  the  second  room  is  like  the  first  and  the  third  is 
like  the  second,  and  there  is  nothing  else  in  any  of  the 
rooms  but  what  I  have  told  you.' 

'  Well,  it  is  a  very  handsome  house,  I  should  think, 
if  you  have  told  true,'  said  Miss  Bentley. 

St.  Clair  left  the  window  with  a  scarce  perceptible 
but  most  wicked  smile  at  her  friend  Miss  Lansing ; 
and  the  group  scattered.  Only  I  remained  to  think  it 
over  and  ask  myself,  could  I  let  go  my  vantage 
ground  ?  could  I  make  up  my  mind  to  do  forever  with 
out  the  smile  and  regard  of  that  portion  of  the  world 
which  little  St.  Clair  represented?  It  is  powerful,  even 
in  a  school ! 

I  had  seen  how  carelessly  this  undoubted  child  of 
birth  and  fashion  wielded  the  lash  of  her  tongue  ;  and 
how  others  bowed  before  it.  I  had  seen  Miss  Bentley 
wince,  and  Miss  Macy  bite  her  lip  ;  but  neither  of  them 
dared  affront  the  daughter  of  Mrs.  St.  Clair.  Miss 
Lansing  was  herself  of  the  favoured  class  and  had  lis 
tened  lightly.  Fashion  was  power,  that  was  plain. 
Was  I  willing  to  forego  it?  was  I  willing  to  be  one  of 
those  whom  fashion  passes  by  as  St.  Clair  had  glanced 
on  my  dress  —  as  something  not  worthy  a  thought? 

I  was  not  happy,  those  days.     Something  within  me 
was  struggling  for  self-assertion.     It  was  new  to  me  ; 
21* 


246  DAISY. 

for  until  then  I  had  never  needed  to  assert  my  claims 
to  anything.  For  the  first  time,  I  was  looked  down 
ipon,  and  I  d>id  not  like  it.  I  do  not  quite  know  why 
I  was  made  to  know  this  so  well.  My  dress,  if  not 
showy  or  costly,  was  certainly  without  blame  in  its 
neatness  and  niceness,  and  perfectly  becoming  my 
place  as  a  school-girl.  And  I  had  very  little  to  do  at 
that  time  with  my  schoolmates,  and  that  little  was 
entirely  friendly  in  its  character.  I  am  obliged  to 
think,  looking  back  at  it  now,  that  some  rivalry  was  at 
work.  I  did  not  then  understand  it.  But  I  was  tak 
ing  a  high  place  in  all  my  classes.  I  had  gone  past 
St.  Clair  in  two  or  three  things.  Miss  Lansing  was 
too  far  behind  in  her  studies  to  feel  any  jealousy  on 
that  account ;  but  besides  that,  I  was  an  unmistakeable 
favourite  with  all  the  teachers.  They  liked  to  have  me 
do  anything  for  them  or  with  them ;  if  any  privilege 
was  to  be  given,  I  was  sure  to  be  one  of  the  first 
names  called  to  share  it ;  if  I  was  spoken  to  for  any 
thing,  the  manner  and  tone  were  in  contrast  with  those 
used  towards  almost  all  my  fellows.  It  may  have  been 
partly  for  these  reasons  that  there  was  a  little  positive 
element  in  the  slights  which  I  felt.  The  effect  of  the 
whole  was  to  make  a  long  struggle  in  iny  mind.  '  The 
world  knoweth  us  not '  —  gave  the  character  and  con 
dition  of  that  party  to  which  I  belonged.  I  was  feel 
ing  now  what  those  words  mean, — -and  it  was  not 
pleasant. 

This  struggle  had  been  going  on  for  several  weeks, 
and  growing  more  and  more  wearying,  when  Mrs. 
Sandford  came  one  day  to  see  me.  She  said  I  did  not 
look  very  well,  and  obtained  leave  for  me  to  take  a 
walk  with  her.  I  was  glad  of  the  change.  It  was  a 


A   PLACE  IN  THE    WORLD.  247 

pleasant  bright  afternoon;  we  strolled  up  the  long 
avenue,  then  gay  and  crowded  witn  passers  to  and  fro 
in  every  variety  and  in  the  height  of  the  mode ;  for  our 
avenue  was  a  favourite  and  very  fashionable  prome 
nade.  The  gay  world  nodded  and  bowed  to  each  other  , 
the  sun  streamed  on  satins  and  laces,  flowers  and  em 
broidery  ;  elegant  toilettes  passed  and  repassed  each 
other,  with  smiling  recognition ;  the  street  was  a  show. 
I  walked  by  Mrs.  Sandford's  side  in  my  chinchilla  cap, 
for  I  had  not  got  a  straw  hat  yet  though  it  was  time ; 
thinking,  — '  The  world  knoweth  us  not  *  —  and  car 
rying  on  the  struggle  in  my  heart  all  the  while.  By 
and  by  we  turned  to  come  down  the  avenue. 

4 1  want  to  stop  a  moment  here  on  some  business,' 
said  Mrs.  Sandford,  as  we  came  to  Miss  Cardigan's 
corner  ;  '  would  you  like  to  go  in  with  me,  Daisy  ? ' 

I  was  pleased,  and  moreover  glad  that  it  was  the 
hour  for  my  companions  to  be  out  walking.  I  did  not 
wish  to  be  seen  going  in  at  that  house  and  to  have  all 
the  questions  poured  on  me  that  would  be  sure  to 
come.  Moreover  I  was  curious  to  see  how  far  Miss 
St.  Clair's  judgment  would  be  verified.  The  marble 
hall  was  undoubted ;  it  was  large  and  square,  with  a 
handsome  staircase  going  up  from  it ;  but  the  parlour, 
into  which  we  were  ushered  the  next  minute,  crossed 
all  my  expectations.  It  was  furnished  with  dark 
chintz ;  no  satin,  red  or  blue,  was  anywhere  to  be 
seen  ;  even  the  curtains  were  chintz.  The  carpet  was 
not  rich ;  the  engravings  on  the  walls  were  in  wooden 
frames  varnished ;  the  long  mirror  between  the  win 
dows,  for  that  was  there,  reflected  a  very  simple  ma 
hogany  table,  on  which  lay  a  large  work  basket,  some 
rolls  of  muslin  and  flannel,  work  cut  and  uncut, 


248  DAISY 

shears  and  spools  of  cotton.  Another  smaller  table 
held  books  and  papers  and  writing  materials.  This 
was  shoved  up  to  the  corner  of  the  hearth,  where  a 
fire  —  a  real,  actual  fire  of  sticks  —  was  softly  burn 
ing.  The  room  was  full  of  the  sweet  sine"  of  the 
burning  wood.  Between  the  two  tables,  in  a  comfort 
able  large  chair,  sat  the  lady  we  had  come  to  see.  My 
heart  warmed  at  the  look  of  her  immediately.  Such  a 
face  of  genial  gentle  benevolence;  such  a  healthy 
sweet  colour  in  the  old  cheeks ;  such  a  hearty,  kind, 
and  withal  shrewd  and  sound,  expression  of  eye  and 
lip.  She  was  stout  and  dumpy  in  figure,  rather  fat ; 
with  a  little  plain  cap  on  her  head  and  a  shawl  pinned 
round  her  shoulders.  Somebody  who  had  never  been 
known  to  the  world  of  fashion.  But  oh,  how  homely 
and  comfortable  she  and  her  room  looked!  she  and 
her  room  and  her  cat ;  for  a  great  white  cat  sat  with 
her  paws  doubled  under  her  in  front  of  the  fire. 

4  My  sister  begged  that  I  would  call  and  see  you,  Miss 
Cardigan,'  Mrs.  Sandford  began,  «  about  a  _>oor  family 
named  Whittaker,  that  live  somewhere  in  Ellen 
Street/ 

4  I  know  them.  Be  seated/  said  our  hostess.  4 1 
know  them  well.  But  I  don't  know  this  little. lady/ 

4  A  little  friend  of  mine,  Miss  Cardigan ;  she  is  at 
school  with  your  neighbour  opposite, — Miss  Daisy 
Randolph/ 

4  If  nearness  made  neighbourhood/  said  Miss  Cardi 
gan  laughing,  4  Mme.  Blcard  and  I  would  be  neigh 
bours  ;  but  I  am  afraid  the  rule  of  the  Good  Samaritan 
would  put  us  far  apart.  Miss  Daisy  —  do  you  like 
my  cat ;  or  would  you  like  maybe  to  go  in  and  look 
at  my  flowers?  —  yes?  —  Step  in  that  way,  dear; 


A  PLACE  IN  THE    WORLD.  249 

iust  go  through  that  room,  and  on,  straight  through ; 
you'll  smell  them  before  you  come  to  them/ 

I  gladly  obeyed  her,  stepping  in  through  the  dark 
ened  middle  room  where  already  the  greeting  of  the 
distant  flowers  met  me ;  then  through  a  third  smaller 
room,  light  and  bright  and  full  of  fragrance,  and  to 
my  surprise,  lined  with  books.  From  this  an  open 
glass  door  let  me  into  the  greenhouse  and  into  the 
presence  of  the  beauties  I  had  so  often  looked  up  to 
from  the  street.  I  lost  myself  then.  Geraniums 
breathed  over  me ;  roses  smiled  at  me ;  a  daphne  at 
one  end  of  the  room  filled  the  whole  place  with  its 
fragrance.  Amaryllis  bulbs  were  magnificent ;  fuch 
sias  dropped  with  elegance ;  jonquils  were  shy  and 
dainty  ;  violets  were  good  ;  hyacinths  were  delicious  ; 
tulips  were  splendid.  Over  and  behind  all  these  and 
others,  were  wonderful  ferns,  and  heaths  most  delicate 
in  their  simplicity,  and  myrtles  most  beautiful  with 
their  shining  dark  foliage  and  starry  white  blossoms. 
I  lost  myself  at  first,  and  wandered  past  all  these  new 
and  old  friends  in  a  dream  ;  then  I  waked  up  to  an  in 
tense  feeling  of  homesickness.  I  had  not  been  in  such 
a  greenhouse  in  a  long  time  ;  the  geraniums  and  roses 
and  myrtles  summoned  me  back  to  the  years  when  I 
was  a  little  happy  thing  at  Melbourne  House  —  or 
summoned  the  images  of  that  time  back  to  me.  Father 
and  mother  and  home  —  the  delights  and  the  freedoms 
of  those  days  —  the  carelessness,  and  the  care  —  the 
blessed  joys  of  that  time  before  I  knew  Miss  Pinshon, 
or  school,  and  before  I  was  perplexed  with  the  sorrows 
and  the  wants  of  the  world,  and  before  I  was  alone  — 
above  all,  when  papa  and  mamma  and  I  were  at  home. 
The  geraniums  and  the  roses  set  me  back  there  so 


250  DAISY. 

sharply  that  I  felt  it  all.  I  had  lost  myself  at  first 
going  into  tbe  greenhouse ;  and  now  I  had  quite  lost 
sight  of  everything  else,  and  stood  gazing  at  the  faces 
of  the  flowers  with  some  tears  on  my  own,  and,  I  sup 
pose,  a  good  deal  of  revelation  of  my  feeling ;  for  I 
was  unutterably  startled  by  the  touch  of  two  hands 
upon  my  shoulders  and  a  soft  whisper  in  my  ear. 
4  What  is  it,  my  bairn  ? ' 

It  was  Miss  Cardigan's  soft  Scotch  accent,  and  it 
was  besides  a  question  of  the  tenderest  sympathy..  I 
looked  at  her,  saw  the  kind  and  strong  grey  eyes 
which  were  fixed  on  me  wistfully ;  and  hiding  my 
face  in  her  bosom  I  sobbed  aloud. 

I  don't  know  how  I  came  to  be  there,  in  her  arms, 
nor  how  I  did  anything  so  unlike  my  habit ;  but  there 
I  was,  and  it  was  done,  and  Miss  Cardigan  and  I  were 
in  each  other's  confidence.  It  was  only  for  one  men 
ment  that  my  tears  came  ;  then  I  recovered  myself. 

*  What  sort  of  discourse  did  the  flowers  hold  to  you, 
little  one  ? '  said  Miss  Cardigan's  kind  voice  ;  while  her 
stout  person  hid  all  view  of  me  that  could  have  been 
had  through  the  glass  door. 

4  Papa  is  away/  I  said,  forcing  myself  to  speak,  — 
4  and  mamma ;  —  and  we  used  to  have  these  flowers  — ' 

4  Yes,  yes  ;  I  know.  I  know  very  well,'  said  my  friend. 
*  The  flowers  didn't  know  but  you  were  there  yet.  They 
hadn't  discretion.  Mrs.  Sandford  wants  to  go,  dear. 
Will  you  come  again  and  see  them?  They  will  say 
something  else  next  time.' 

4  O, may  I?'     I  said. 

4  Just  whenever  you  like,  and  as  often  as  you  like. 
So  I'll  expect  you.' 

I  went  home,  very  glad  at  having  escaped   notice 


A    PLACE   IN    THE    WORLD.  251 

from  my  schoolmates,  and  firmly  bent  on  accepting 
Miss  Cardigan's  invitation  at  the  first  chance  I  had. 
I  asked  about  her  of  Mrs.  Sandford  in  the  first  place ; 
and  learned  that  she  was  *  a  very  good  sort  of  person ; 
a  little  queer,  but  very  kind;  a  person  that  did  a 
great  deal  of  good  and  had  plenty  of  money.  Not  in 
society,  of  course/  Mrs.  Sandford  added  ;  '  but  I  dare 
say  she  don't  miss  that ;  and  she  is  just  as  useful  as 
if  she  were.' 

4  Not  in  society.51  That  meant,  I  supposed,  that 
Miss  Cardigan  would  not  be  asked  to  companies  where 
Mrs.  Randolph  would  be  found,  or  Mrs.  Sandford ; 
that  such  people  would  not '  know '  her,  in  fact.  That 
would  certainly  be  a  loss  to  Miss  Cardigan;  but  I 
wondered  how  much  ?  '  The  world  knoweth  us  not,'  — 
the  lot  of  all  Christ's  people,  —  could  it  involve  any 
thing  in  itself  very  bad  ?  My  old  Juanita,  for  exam 
ple,  who  held  herself  the  heir  to  a  princely  inheritance, 
was  it  any  harm  to  her  that  earthly  palaces  knew  her 
only  as  a  servant?  But  then,  what  did  not  matter  to 
Juanita  or  Miss  Cardigan,  might  matter  to  somebody 
who  had  been  used  to  different  things.  I  knew  how  it 
had  been  with  myself  for  a  time  past.  I  was  puzzled. 
I  determined  to  wait  and  see,  if  I  could,  how  much  it 
mattered  to  Miss  Cardigan. 


252  BAI8T. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

FRENCH   DRESSES. 

MY  new  friend  had  given  me  free  permission  to  come 
and  see  her  whenever  I  found  myself  able.  Saturday 
afternoon  we  always  had  to  ourselves  in  the  school ; 
and  the  next  Saturday  found  me  at  Miss  Cardigan's 
door  again  as  soon  as  my  friends  and  room-mates  were 
well  out  of  my  way.  Miss  Cardigan  was  not  at  home, 
the  servant  said,  but  she  would  be  in  presently.  I 
was  just  as  well  pleased.  I  took  off  my  cap,  and  car 
rying  it  in  my  hand  I  went  back  through  the  rooms  to 
the  greenhouse.  All  still  and  fresh  and  sweet,  it  seemed 
more  delightful  than  ever,  because  I  knew  there  was 
nobody  near.  Some  new  flowers  were  out.  An  azalea 
was  in  splendid  beauty,  and  a  white  French  rose,  very 
large  and  fair,  was  just  blossoming,  and  with  the  red 
roses  and  the  hyacinths  and  the  violets  and  the  daphne 
and  the  geraniums,  made  a  wonderful  sweet  place  of 
the  little  greenhouse.  I  lost  myself  in  delight  again  ; 
but  this  time  the  delight  did  not  issue  in  homesickness. 
The  flowers  had  another  message  for  me  to-day.  I  did 
not  heed  it  at  first,  busy  with  examining  and  drinking  in 
the  fragrance  and  the  loveliness  about  me  ;  but  even  as 
I  looked  and  drank,  the  flowers  began  to  whisper  .to 
me.  With  their  wealth  of  perfume,  with  all  their  various, 
glorious  beauty,  one  and  another  leaned  towards  me 


FRENCH  DRESSES.  253 

or  bent  over  me  with  the  question  — '  Daisy  are  you 
afraid?  —  Daisy,  are  you  afraid?  —  The  good  God  who 
has  made  us  so  rich,  do  you  think  he  will  leave  you 
poor?  He  loves  you,  Daisy.  You  needn't  be  a  bit 
afraid  but  that  HE  is  enough,  even  if  the  world  does  not 
know  you.  He  is  rich  enough  for  you  as  well  as  for 
us/ 

I  heard  no  voice,  but  surely  I  heard  that  whisper, 
plain  enough.  The  roses  seemed  to  kiss  me  with  it. 
The  sweet  azalea  repeated  it.  The  hyacinths  stood  wit 
nesses  of  it.  The  gay  tulips  and  amaryllis  held  up  a 
banner  before  me  on  which  it  was  blazoned. 

I  was  so  ashamed,  and  sorry,  and  glad,  all  at  once, 
that  I  fell  down  on  my  knees  there,  on  the  stone 
matted  floor,  and  gave  up  the  world  from  my  heart  and 
forever  and  stretched  out  my  hands  for  the  wealth  that 
does  not  perish  and  the  blessing  that  has  no  sorrow 
with  it. 

I  was  afraid  to  stay  long  on  my  knees  ;  but  I  could 
hardly  get  my  eyes  dry  again,  I  was  so  glad  and  so  sorry. 
I  remember  I  was  wiping  a  tear  or  two  away  when  Miss 
Cardigan  came  in.  She  greeted  me  kindly. 

4  There's  a  new  rose  out,  did  ye  see  it  ? '  she  said  ; 
4  and  this  blue  hyacinth  has  opened  its  flowers.  Isn't 
that  bonny?' 

4  What  is  bonny,  ma'am  ? '  I  asked. 

Miss  Cardigan  laughed,  the  heartiest,  sonsiest  low 
laugh. 

4  There's  a  many  things  the  Lord  has  made  bonny.' 

she    said ;     4 1    thank    him    for    it.     Look    at    these 

violets  —  they're   bonny ;    and   this   sweet   red   rose.' 

She  broke  it  off  the  tree  and  gave  it  to  me.     4  It's  bad 

22 


254  DAISY. 

that  it  shames  your  cheeks  so.  What's  the  matter  wi* 
'em,  my  bairn?' 

Miss  Cardigan's  soft  finger  touched  my  cheek  as  she 
spoke ;  and  the  voice  and  tone  of  the  question  were  so 
gently,  tenderly  kind  that  it  was  pleasant  to  answer. 
I  said  I  had  not  been  very  strong. 

1  Nor  just  weel  in  your  mind.  No,  no.  Well,  what 
did  the  flowers  say  to  you  to-day,  my  dear?  Eh? 
They  told  you  something?' 

4  O  yes  ! '  I  said. 

4  Did  they  tell  you  that  "  the  Lord  is  good  ;  a  strong 
hold  in  the  day  of  trouble  ;  and  he  knoweth  them  that 
trust  in  him"?' 

'  O  yes,'  I  said,  looking  up  at  her  in  surprise.  '  How 
did  you  know  ? ' 

For  all  answer,  Miss  Cardigan  folded  her  two  arms 
tight  about  me  and  kissed -me  with  earnest  good  will. 

4  But  they  told  me  something  else,'  I  said,  struggling 
to  command  myself;  —  'they  told  me  that  I  had  not 
44  trusted  in  him." ' 

4  Ah  my  bairn  ! '  she  said.     '  But  the  Lord  is  good.' 

There  was  so  much  both  of  understanding  and  sym 
pathy  in  her  tones,  that  I  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
to  control  nryself.  I  felt  unspeakably  happy  too,  that 
I  had  found  a  friend  that  could  understand.  I  was 
silent,  and  Miss  Cardigan  looked  at  me. 

4  Is  it  all  right,  noo? '  she  asked. 

4  Except  me,  — '  I  said  with  my  eyes  swimming. 

4  Ah  well,'  she  said.  4  You've  seen  the  sky  all  black 
and  covered  with  the  thick  clouds  —  that's  like  our 
sins ;  but,  44 1  have  blotted  out  as  a  thick  cloud  thy 
transgressions,  and  as  a  cloud  thy  sins."  You  know 
how  it  is  when  the  wind  comes  and  clears  the  clouds 


FRENCH  DRESSES.  255 

all  off,  and  you  can  look  up  through  the  blue,  till  it 
seems  as  if  your  eye  would  win  into  heaven  itself. 
Keep  the  sky  clear,  my  darling,  so  that  you  can  always 
see  up  straight  to  God,  with  never  the  fleck  of  a  cloud 
between.  But  do  you  ken  what  will  clear  the  clouds 
away  ? ' 

And  I  looked  up  now  with  a  smile  and  answered, 
*  u  The  precious  blood  of  Christ" '  —  for  the  two  texts 
had  been  close  together  in  one  of  the  pages  of  my  little 
book  not  long  before. 

Miss  Cardigan  clapped  her  hands  together  softly  and 
laughed.  '  Ye've  got  it ! '  she  said.  4  Ye  have  gotten 
the  pearl  of  great  price.  And  where  did  ye  find  it,  my 
dear?' 

4 1  had  a  friend,  that  taught  me  in  a  Sunday  school, 
four  years  ago,  — '  I  said. 

'  Ah,  there  weren't  so  many  Sunday  schools  in  my 
day,'  said  Miss  Cardigan.  4  And  ye  have  found,  may 
be,  that  this  other  sort  of  a  school,  that  ye  have  gotten 
to  now,  isn't  helpful  altogether?  Is  it  a  rough  road, 
my  bairn?' 

4  It  is  my  own  fault,'  I  said  looking  at  her  gratefully. 
The  tender  voice  went  right  into  my  heart. 

'  Well,  noo,  ye'll  just  stop  and  have  tea  with  me 
here  ;  and  whenever  the  way  is  rough,  ye'll  come  over 
to  my  flowers  and  rest  yourself.  And  rest  me  too  ;  it 
does  me  a  world  o'  good  to  see  a  young  face.  So  take 
off  your  coat,  my  dear,  and  let  us  sit  down  and  be 
comfortable.' 

I  was  afraid  at  first  that  I  could  not ;  I  had  no  lib 
erty  to  be  absent  at  tea-time.  But  Miss  Cardigan 
assured  me  I  should  be  home  in  good  season ;  the 
school  tea  was  at  seven,  and  her  own  was  always 


256  DAISY. 

served  at  six.  So  very  gladly,  with  an  inexpressible 
sense  of  freedom  and  peace,  I  took  off  my  coat  and 
gloves,  and  followed  my  kind  friend  back  to  the  par 
lour  where  her  fire  was  burning.  For  although  it  was 
late  in  April,  the  day  was  cool  and  raw ;  and  the  fire 
one  saw  nowhere  else  was  delightful  in  Miss  Cardigan's 
parlour. 

Every  minute  of  that  afternoon  was  as  bright  as  the 
fire  glow.  I  sat  in  the  midst  of  that,  on  an  ottoman, 
and  Miss  Cardigan,  busy  between  her  two  tables,  made 
me  very  mnch  interested  in  her  story  of  some  distressed 
families  for  whom  she  was  working.  She  asked  me 
very  little  about  my  own  affairs  ;  nothing  that  the 
most  delicate  good  breeding  did  not  warrant ;  but  she 
found  out  that  my  father  and  mother  were  at  a  great 
distance  from  me  and  I  almost  alone,  and  she  gave  me 
the  freedom  of  her  house.  I  was  to  come  there  when 
ever  I  could  and  liked ;  whenever  I  wanted  to  '  rest 
my  feet/  as  she  said ;  especially  I  might  spend  as 
much  of  every  Sunday  with  her  as  I  could  get  leave 
for.  And  she  made  this  first  afternoon  so  pleasant  to 
me  with  her  gentle  beguiling  talk,  that  the  permission 
to  come  often  was  like  the  entrance  into  a  whole  world 
of  comfort.  She  had  plenty  to  talk  about ;  plenty  to 
tell,  of  the  poor  people  to  whom  she  and  others  were 
ministering  ;  of  plans  and  methods  to  do  them  good  ; 
all  which  somehow  she  made  exceedingly  interesting. 
There  was  just  a  little  accent  to  her  words,  which  made 
them,  in  their  peculiarity,  all  the  more  sweet  to  me  ; 
but  she  spoke  good  English  ;  the  4  noo '  which  slipped 
out  now  and  then,  with  one  or  two  other  like  words, 
came  only,  I  found,  at  times  when  the  fountain  of  feel 
ing  was  more  full  than  ordinary,  and  so  flowed  over 


FRENCH  DRESSES.  25? 

into  the  disused  old  channel.  And  her  face  was  so 
fresh,  ros}7,  round  and  sweet,  withal  strong  and  sound, 
that  it  was  a  perpetual  pleasure  to  me. 

As  she  told  her  stories  of  New  York  needy  and  suf 
fering,  I  mentally  added  my  poor  people  at  Magnolia, 
and  began  to  wonder  with  myself,  was  all  the  world 
so  ?  Were  these  two  spots  but  samples  of  the  whole  ? 
I  got  into  a  brown  study,  and  was  waked  out  of  it  by 
Miss  Cardigan's  '  What  is  it,  my  dear?' 

4  Ma'am  ? '  I  said. 

4  Ye  are  studying  some  deep  question/  she  said 
smiling.  4  Maybe  it's  too  big  for  you.' 

4  So  it  is,'  said  I  sighing.  4  Is  it  so  everywhere, 
Miss  Cardigan?' 

4  So  how,  my  bairn?' 

4  Is  there  so  much  trouble  everywhere  in  the  world  ? ' 

Her  face  clouded  over. 

4  Jesus  said,  44The  poor  ye  have  always  with  you, 
and  whensoever  ye  will  ye  may  do  them  good."  ' 

4  But  that  is  what  I  don't  understand  about,'  I  said. 
4  How  much  ought  one  to  do,  Miss  Cardigan?' 

There  came  a  ray  of  infinite  brightness  over  her 
features  ;  I  can  hardly  describe  it ;  it  was  warm  with 
love,  and  bright  with  pleasure,  and  I  thought  sparkled 
with  a  little  amusement. 

4  Have  you  thought  upon  that? '  she  said. 

4  Yes,'  I  said,  —  4  very  much/ 

4  It  is  a  great  question  ! '  she  said,  her  face  becoming 
grave  again. 

4 1  know,'  I  said,  4  of  course  one  ought  to  do  all  one 
can.  But  what  I  want  to  know  is,  how  much  one  can. 
How  much  ought  one  to  spend,  for  such  things?' 

It's   a  great   question,'   Miss   Cardigan  repeated, 
22* 


258  DAISY. 

more  gravely  than  before.  *  For  when  the  King  comes, 
to  take  account  of  his  servants,  he  will  want  to  know 
>vhat  we  have  done  with  every  penny.  Be  sure,  he 
will.' 

i  Then  how  can  one  tell  ? '  said  I,  hoping  earnestly 
that  now  I  was  going  to  get  some  help  in  my  troubles. 
4  How  can  one  know?  It  is  very  difficult.' 

1  I'll  no  say  it's  not  difficult,'  said  Miss  Cardigan, 
whose  thoughts  seemed  to  have  gone  into  the  recesses 
of  her  own  mind.  '  Dear,  it's  nigh  our  tea-time.  Let 
us  go  in.' 

I  followed  her,  much  disappointed,  and  feeling  that 
if  she  passed  the  subject  by  so,  I  could  not  bring  it  up 
again.  We  went  through  to  the  inner  room  ;  the  same 
from  which  the  glass  door  opened  to  the  flowers. 
Here  a  small  table  was  now  spread.  This  room  was 
cosy.  I  had  hardly  seen  it  before.  Low  bookcases 
lined  it  on  every  side  ;  and  above  the  bookcases  hung 
maps ;  maps  of  the  city  and  of  various  parts  of  the 
world  where  missionary  stations  were  established. 
Along  with  the  maps,  a  few  engravings  and  fine  photo 
graphs.  I  remember  one  of  the  Colosseum,  which  I 
used  to  study ;  and  a  very  beautiful  engraving  of  Jeru 
salem.  But  the  one  that  fixed  my  eyes  this  first  even 
ing,  perhaps  because  Miss  Cardigan  placed  me  in  front 
of  it,  was  a  picture  of  another  sort.  It  was  .a  good 
photograph,  and  had  beauty  enough  besides  to  hold 
my  eyes.  It  shewed  a  group  of  three  or  four.  A  boy 
and  girl  in  front,  handsome,  careless,  and  well-to-do, 
passing  along,  with  wandering  eyes.  Behind  them  and 
disconnected  from  them  by  her  dress  and  expression,  a 
tall  woman  in  black  robes  with  a  baby  on  her  breast. 
The  hand  of  the  woman  was  stretched  out  with  a  coin 


FRENCH  DRESSES.  259 

which  she  was  about  dropping  into  an  iron-bound  coffer 
which  stood  at  the  side  of  the  picture.  It  was  '  tne 
widow's  mite  ; '  and  her  face,  wan,  sad,  sweet,  yet  lov 
ing  and  longing,  told  the  story.  The  two  coin  were 
going  into  the  box  with  all  her  heart. 

4  Yon  know  what  it  is  ?  '  said  my  hostess. 

'  I  see,  ma'am,'  I  replied  ;  4  it  is  written  under.' 

*  That  box  is  the  Lord's  treasury/ 
4  Yes,  ma'am/  I  said,  — '  I  know.' 

*  Do  you  remember  how  much  that  woman  gave?' 
'  Two  mites,'  —  I  said. 

4  It  was  something  more  than  that,'  said  my  hostess. 
4  It  was  more  than  anybody  else  gave  that  day.  Don't 
you  recollect  ?  It  was  all  her  living.' 

I  looked  at  Miss  Cardigan,  and  she  looked  at  me. 
Then  my  eyes  went  back  to  the  picture,  and  to  the  sad 
yet  sweet  and  most  loving  face  of  the  poor  woman 
there. 

4  Ma'am,'  said  I,  4  do  you  think  people  that  are  rich 
ought  to  give  all  they  have?' 

4 1  only  know,  my  Lord  was  pleased  with  her,'  said 
Miss  Cardigan  softly  ;  '  and  I  always  think  I  should 
like  to  have  him  pleased  with  me  too.' 

I  was  silent,  looking  at  the  picture  and  thinking. 

*  You  know  what  made  that  poor  widow  give  her  two 
mites  ? '    Miss  Cardigan  asked  presently. 

4 1  suppose  she  wanted  to  give  them,'  I  said. 

4  Ay,'  said  my  hostess  turning  away,  —  4  she  loved 
the  Lord's  glory  beyond  her  own  comfort.  Come  my 
love,  and  let  us  have  some  tea.  She  gave  all  she  had, 
Miss  Daisy,  and  the  Lord  liked  it ;  do  ye  think  you 
and  me  can  do  less  ? ' 

4  But  that  is  what  I  do  not  understand,'  I  said,  fol- 


260  DAISY. 

lowing  Miss  Cardigan  to  the  little  tea-table,  and 
watching  with  great  comfort  the  bright  unruffled  face 
which  promised  to  be  such  a  help  to  me. 

'  Now  you'll  sit  clown  there,'  said  my  hostess,  '  where 
you  can  see  my  flowers  while  I  can  see  you.  It's  poor 
work  eating,  if  we  cannot  look  at  something  or  hear 
something  at  the  same  time ;  and  maybe  we'll  do  the 
two  things.  And  ye'll  have  a  bit  of  honey  —  here  it  is. 
And  Lotty  will  bring  us  up  a  bit  of  hot  toast  —  or 
is  the  bread  better,  my  dear?  Now  ye're  at  home; 
and  maybe  you'll  come  over  and  drink  tea  with  rne 
whenever  you  can  run  away  from  over  there.  I'll 
have  Lotty  set  a  place  for  you.  And  then,  when  ye 
think  of  the  empty  place  you  will  know  you  had 
better  come  over  and  fill  it.  See — you  could  bring 
your  study  book  and  study  here  in  this  quiet  little  cor 
ner  by  the  flowers/ 

I  gave  my  very  glad  thanks.  I  knew  I  could  often 
do  this. 

1  And  now  for  the  "  not  understanding,"  '  said  Miss 
Cardigan,  when  tea  was  half  over.  l  How  was  it,  my 
dear?' 

4 1  have  been  puzzled/  I  said,  '  about  giving  —  how 
much  one  ought  to  give,  and  how  much  one  ought  to 
spend  —  I  mean,  for  oneself/ 

'  Well,'  said  Miss  Cardigan  brightly,  *  we  have 
fixed  that.  The  poor  woman  gave  all  her  living.' 

c  But  one  must  spend  some  money  for  oneself,'  I 
said.  4  One  must  have  bonnets  and  cloaks  and 
dresses/ 

c  And  houses,  and  books,  and  pictures,'  said  Miss 
Cardigan,  looking  around  her.  '  My  lamb,  let  us  go  to 
the  Bible  again.  That  says,  "  whether  ye  eat,  or  drink, 


FRENCH  DRESSES.  261 

or  whatsoever  ye  do,  do  all  to  the  glory  of  God."  So 
I  suppose  we  must  buy  cloaks  and  bonnets  on  the 
same  principle.' 

I  turned  this  over  in  mind.  Had  I  done  this,  when 
I  was  choosing  my  chinchilla  cap  and  grey  cloak?  A 
little  ray  of  infinite  brightness  began  to  steal  in  upon 
their  quiet  colours  and  despised  forms. 

'  If  the  rich  are  to  give  their  all,  as  well  as  the  poor, 
it  doesn't  say  —  mind  you  —  that  they  are  to  give  it 
all  to  the  hungry,  or  all  to  the  destitute ;  but  only, 
they  are  to  give  it  all  to  Christ.  Then,  he  will  tell 
them  what  to  do  with  it ;  do  }7e  understand,  my  dear? ' 

Miss  Cardigan's  eye  was  watching  me,  not  more 
kindly  than  keen.  A  wise  and  clear  grey  eye  it  was. 

'  But  isn't  it  difficult  to  know  sometimes  what  to 
do  ? '  I  said.  '  I  have  been  so  puzzled  to  know  about 
dresses.  Mamma  is  away,  and  I  had  to  decide.' 

'  It's  no  very  difficult,'  said  Miss  Cardigan,  — '  if 
once  ye  set  your  face  in  the  right  airth  —  as  we  speak. 
My  clear,  there's  a  great  many  sorts  of  dresses  anu 
bonnets  and  things  ;  and  I'd  always  buy  just  that  bon 
net  and  that  gown,  in  which  I  thought  I  could  do  most 
work  for  my  Master  ;  and  that  wouldn't  be  the  same  sort 
of  bonnet  for  you  and  for  me,'  she  said  with  a  merry 
smile.  '  Now  ye'll  have  another  cup  of  tea,  and  ye'll 
tell  me  if  my  tea's  good/ 

It  was  wonderfully  good  to  me.  I  felt  like  a  plant 
dried  up  for  want  of  water,  suddenly  set  in  a  spring 
shower.  Refreshment  was  all  around  me,  without  and 
within.  The  faces  of  the  flowers  looked  at  me  through 
the  glass,  and  the  sweet  breath  of  them  came  from  the 
open  door.  The  room  where  I  was  sitting  pleased  me 
mightily,  in  its  comfortable  and  pretty  simplicity ;  and 


2»32  DAISY. 

I  had  found  a  friend,  even  better  than  ray  old 
Maria  and  Darry  at  Magnolia.  It  was  not  very  long 
before  I  told  all  about  these  to  my  new  counsellor. 

For  the  friendship  between  us  ripened  and  grew.  I 
often  found  a  chance  to  fill  my  place  at  the  dear  little 
tea-table.  Sundays  I  could  always  be  there  ;  and  I 
went  there  straight  from  afternoon  church,  and  rested 
among  Miss  Cardigan's  books  and  in  her  sweet  society 
and  in  the  happy  freedom  and  rest  of  her  house,  with 
an  intensity  of  enjoyment  which  words  can  but  feebly 
tell.  So  in  time  I  came  to  tell  her  all  my  troubles  and 
the  perplexities  which  had  filled  me ;  I  was  willing  to 
talk  to  Miss  Cardigan  about  things  that  I  would 
have  breathed  to  no  other  ear  upon  earth.  She  was  so 
removed  from  all  the  sphere  of  my  past  or  present  life, 
so  utterly  disconnected  from  all  the  persons  and  things 
with  which  I  had  had  to  do,  it  was  like  telling  about 
them  to  a  being  of  another  planet.  Yet  she  was  not 
so  removed  but  that  her  sympathies  and  her  judgment 
could  be  living  and  full  grown  for  my  help  ;  all  ready 
to  take  hold  of  the  facts  and  to  enter  into  the  circum 
stances,  and  to  give  me  precious  comfort  and  counsel. 
Miss  Cardigan  and  I  came  to  be  very  dear  to  each 
other. 

All  this  took  time.  Nobody  noticed  at  first,  or 
seemed  to  notice,  my  visits  to  the  c  house  with  thf 
flowers,'  as  the  girls  called  it.  I  believe,  in  my  plain 
dress,  I  was  not  thought  of  importance  enough  to  be 
watched.  I  went  and  came  very  comfortably  ;  and  the 
weeks  that  remained  before  the  summer  vacation 
slipped  awaj'  in  quiet  order. 

Just  before  the  vacation,  my  aunt  came  home  from 
Europe.  With  her  came  the  end  of  nry  obscurity.  She 


FRENCH  DRESSES.  263 

brought  me,  from  my  mother,  a  great  supply  of  all  sorts 
of  pretty  French  dresses,  hats,  gloves,  and  varieties. 
Chosen  by  my  mother ;  as  pretty  and  elegant,  and 
simple  too,  as  they  could  be ;  but  once  putting  them 
on,  I  could  never  be  unnoticed  by  my  schoolmates  any 
more.  I  knew  it,  with  a  certain  feeling  that  was  not 
displeasure.  Was  it  pride?  Was  it  anything  more 
than  my  pleasure  in  all  pretty  things?  I  thought  it 
was  something  more.  And  I  determined  that  I  would 
not  put  on  any  of  them  till  school  was  broken  up.  If 
it  was  pride,  I  was  ashamed  of  it.  But  besides  French 
dresses,  my  aunt  brought  me  a  better  thing ;  a  promise 
from  my  father. 

4  He  said  I  was  to  tell  you,  Daisy  my  dear,  —  and  I 
hope  you  will  be  a  good  child  and  take  it  as  you 
ought,  —  but  dear  me  !  how  she  is  growing/  said  Mrs. 
Gary  turning  to  Mme.  Ricard;  'I  cannot  talk  about 
Daisy  as  a  "  child  "  much  longer.  She's  tall.' 

4  Not  too  tall,'  said  madame. 

*  No,  but  she  is  going  to  be  tall.  She  has  a  right ; 
her  mother  is  tall,  and  her  father.  Daisy  my  dear,  1 
do  believe  jou  are  going  to  look  like  your  mother. 
You'll  be  very  handsome  if  you  do.  And  yet,  you 
look  different  — ' 

'  Miss  Randolph  will  not  shame  anybody  belonging 
to  her,'  said  Mme.  Ricard  graciously. 

4  Well,  I  suppose  not/  said  my  aunt.  '  I  was  going 
to  tell  you  what  your  father  said,  Daisy.  He  said  — • 
you  know  it  takes  a  long  while  to  get  to  China  and 
back,  and  if  it  does  him  good  he  will  stay  a  little  while 
there ;  and  then  there's  the  return  voyage,  and  there 
may  be  delays ;  so  altogether  it  was  impossible  to  say 


264  DAISY. 

exactly  how  long  he  and  your  mother  will  be  gone.  I 
mean,  it  was  impossible  to  know  certainly  that  they 
would  be  able  to  come  home  by  next  summer ;  indeed 
I  doubt  if  your  father  ever  does  come  home.' 

I  waited,  in  silence. 

1  So  altogether,'  my  aunt  went  on,  turning  for  a  mo 
ment  to  Mme.  Ricard,  *  there  was  a  doubt  about  it; 
and  your  father  said,  he  charged  me  to  tell  Daisy,  that 
if  she  will  make  herself  contented  —  that  is,  supposing 
they  cannot  come  home  next  year,  you  know,  —  if  she 
will  make  herself  happy  and  be  patient  and  bear  one  or 
two  years  more  and  stay  at  school  and  do  the  best  she 
can,  then,  the  year  after  next  or  the  next  year,  he  will 
send  for  you,  your  father  says,  unless  they  come  home 
themselves,  — they  will  send  for  you  ;  and  then,  your 
father  says,  he  will  give  you  any  request  you  like  to 
make  of  him.  Ask  anything  you  can  think  of,  that 
you  would  like  best,  and  he  will  do  it  or  get  it,  what 
ever  it  is.  He  didn't  say  like  king  Herod,  "  to  the 
half  of  his  kingdom,"  but  I  suppose  he  meant  that. 
And  meanwhile,  you  know  you  have  a  guardian  now, 
Daisy,  and  there  is  no  use  for  me  in  your  affairs ;  and 
having  conveyed  to  you  your  mother's  gifts  and  your 
father's  promises,  I  suppose  there  is  nothing  further 
for  me  to  do.' 

I  was  silent  yet,  thinking.  Two  years  more  would 
be  a  dear  purchase  of  any  pleasure  that  might  come 
after.  Two  years !  And  four  were  gone  already.  It 
seemed  impossible  to  wait  or  to  bear  it.  I  heard  no 
more  of  what  my  aunt  was  saying,  till  she  turned  to 
me  again  and  asked, 

4  Where  are  3^ou  going  to  pass  the  vacation  ? ' 

I  did  not  know,  for  Mrs.  Sandford  was  obliged  to  be 


FREFCIJ  DRESSES.  2C5 

• 

with  her  sister  still,  so  that  I  could  not  go  to  Mel 
bourne. 

4  Well  if  your  new  guardian  thinks  well  of  it  —  you 
can  consult  him  if  it  is  necessary —  and  if  he  does  not 
object,  you  can  be  with  me  if  you  like.  Preston  has 
leave  of  absence  this  summer,  I  believe ;  and  he  will 
be  with  us.' 

It  was  in  effect  arranged  so.  My  aunt  took  me 
about  the  country  from  one  watering  place  to  another ; 
from  Saratoga  to  the  White  Mountains  ;  and  Preston's 
being  with  us  made  it  a  gay  time.  Preston  had  been 
for  two  years  at  West  Point  j  he  was  grown  and  im 
proved  everybody  said;  but  to  me  he  was  just  the 
same.  If  anything,  not  improved ;  the  old  grace  and 
graciousness  of  his  manner  was  edged  with  an  occa 
sional  hardness  or  abruptness  which  did  not  use  to  be 
long  to  him  ;  and  which  I  did  not  understand.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  latent  cause  of  irritation  somewhere. 

However,  my  summer  went  off  smoothly  enough. 
September  brought  me  back  to  Mme.  Ricard's,  and  in 
view  of  Miss  Cardigan's  late  roses  and  budding  chrys 
anthemums.  I  was  not  sorry.  I  had  set  my  heart  on 
doing  as  much  as  could  be  done  in  these  next  two 
years,  if  two  they  must  be. 

I  was  the  first  in  my  room ;  but  before  the  end  of 
the  day  they  all  came  pouring  in ;  the  two  older  and 
the  two  younger  girls.  '  Here's  somebody  already,' 
exclaimed  Miss  Macy  as  she  saw  me.  « Why  Daisy 
Randolph !  is  it  possible  that's  you  ?  Is  it  Daisy  Ran 
dolph  ?  what  have  you  done  to  yourself?  How  you 
have  improved ! ' 

4  She  is  very  much  improved,'  said  Miss  Bentleymore 
soberly. 

23 


2C6  DAISY. 

» 

4  She  has  been  learning  the  fashions/  said  Miss  Laa 
sing,  her  bright  eyes  dancing  as  good-humouredly  as 
ever.     '  Daisy,  now  when  your  hair  gets  long  you'll 
look  quite  nice.     That  frock  is  made  very  well.' 

'  She  is  changed  — '  said  Miss  St.  Clair,  with  a  look 
I  could  not  quite  make  out. 

4  No,'  I  said,  —  '  I  hope  I  am  not  changed.' 

4  Your  dress  is,'  said  St.  Clair. 

I  thought  of  Dr.  Sandford's  4  L'haUt  c'est  I'homme.' 
4  My  mother  had  this  dress  made,'*  I  said ;  '  and  I 
ordered  the  other  one ;  that  is  all  the  difference.' 

1  You're  on  the  right  side  of  the  difference,  then,' 
said  Miss  St.  Clair. 

4  Has  your  mother  come  back,  Daisy?'  Miss  Lansing 
asked. 

1  Not  yet.     She  sent  me  this  from  Paris.' 

4  It's  very  pretty ! '  she  said ;  with,  I  saw,  an  in 
crease  of  admiration ;  but  St.  Clair  gave  me  another 
strange  look.  4  How  much  prettier  Paris  things  are 
than  American  ! '  Lansing  went  on.  4 1  wish  I  could 
have  all  my  dresses  from  Paris.  Why,  Daisy,  you've 
grown  handsome.' 

4  Nonsense  ! '  said  Miss  Macy  ;  4  she  always  was, 
only  you  didn't  see  it.' 

4  Style  is  more  than  a  face,'  remarked  Miss  St.  Clair 
cavalierly.  Somehow  I  felt  that  this  little  lady  was 
not  in  a  good  mood  towards  me.  I  boded  mischief ; 
for  being  nearly  of  an  age,  we  were  together  in  most 
of  our  classes,  studied  the  same  things  and  recited  at 
the  same  times.  There  was  an  opportunity  for  clash 
ing. 

They  soon  ran  off,  all  four,  to  see  their  friends  and 
acquaintances  and  learn  the  news  of  the  school.  I 


FRENCH  DRESSES.  267 

was  left  alone,  making  my  arrangement  of  clothes  and 
things  in  my  drawer  and  my  corner  of  the  cioset ;  and 
I  found  that  some  disturbance,  in  those  few  moments, 
had  quite  disarranged  the  thoughts  in  my  heart.  They 
were  peaceful  enough  before.  There  was  some  con 
fusion  now.  ]*  could  not  at  first  tell  what  was  upper 
most  ;  only  that  St.  Glair's  words  were  those  that 
most  returned  to  me.  '  She  has  changed.'  If  ad  I 
changed?  or  was  I  going  to  change?  was  I  going  to 
enter  the  lists  of  fashion  with  my  young  companions 
and  try  who  would  win  the  race?  No  doubt  my 
mother  could  dress  me  better  than  almost  any  of  their 
mothers  could  dress  them  ;  what  then?  would  this  be 
a  triumph  ?  or  was  this  the  sort  of  name  and  notoriety 
that  became  and  befitted  a  servant  of  Jesus  ?  I  could 
not  help  my  dresses  being  pretty  ;  no,  but  I  could  help 
making  much  display  of  them.  I  could  wear  my  own 
school  plaid  when  the  weather  grew  cooler ;  and  one 
or  two  others  of  my  wardrobe  were  all  I  need  shew. 
4  Style  is  more  than  a  face.'  No  doubt.  What  then? 
Did  I  want  style  and  a  face  too  ?  Was  I  wishing  to 
confound  St.  Clair?  Was  I  escaping  already  from 
that  bond  and  mark  of  a  Christian,  — '  The  world 
knoweth  us  not '  ?  I  was  startled  and  afraid.  I  fell 
down  on  my  knees  by  the  side  of  my  bed,  and  tried  to 
look  at  the  matter  as  God  looked  at  it.  And  the  Daisy 
I  thought  he  would  be  pleased  with,  was  one  who  ran 
no  race  for  worldly  supremacy.  I  resolved  she  should 
not.  The  praise  of  God,  I  thought,  was  far  better 
than  the  praise  of  men. 

My  mind  was  quite  made  up  when  I  rose  from  nry 
knees ;  but  I  looked  forward  to  a  less  quiet  school 
term  than  the  last  had  been.  Something  told  me  that 


268  DAISY. 

the  rest  of  the  girls  would  take  me  up  now,  for  good 
and  for  evil.  My  Paris  dress  set  me  in  a  new  position, 
no  longer  beneath  their  notice.  I  was  an  object  of  at 
tention.  Even  that  first  evening  I  felt  the  difference. 

4  Daisy,  when  is  your  mother  coming  home?  ' — '  O  she 
is  gone  to  China  ;  Daisy's  mother  is  gone  to  China ! ' — 
4  She'll  bring  you  lots  of  queer  things,  won't  she?'  — 
'  What  a  sweet  dress ! '  — '  That  didn't  come  from 
China?'  —  'Daisy,  who's  head  in  mathematics,  you  or 
St.  Clair  ?  I  hope  you  will  get  before  her ! ' 

4  Why  ?  '  I  ventured  to  ask. 

4  O,  you're  the  best  of  the  two ;  everybody  knows 
that.  But  St.  Clair  is  smart,  isn't  she?' 

4  She  thinks  she  is,'  answered  another  speaker ;  *  she 
believes  she's  at  the  tip  top  of  creation ;  but  she  never 
had  such  a  pretty  dress  on  as  that  in  her  days ;  and 
she  knows  it  and  she  don't  like  it.  It's  real  fun  to  see 
St.  Clair  beat !  she  thinks  she  is  so  much  better  than 
other  girls,  and  she  has  such  a  way  of  twisting  that 
upper  lip  of  hers.  Do  you  know  how  St.  Clair  twists 
her  upper  lip  ?  Look  !  —  she's  doing  it  now/ 

4  She's  handsome  though,  aintshe?'  said  Miss  Macy. 
4  She'll  be  beautiful.' 

4  No,'  said  Mile.  Genevieve  ;  4  not  that.  Never  that. 
She  will  be  handsome  ;  but  beauty  is  a  thing  of  the 
soul.  She  will  not  be  beautiful.  Daisy,  are  you 
going  to  work  hard  this  year? ' 

4  Yes,  mademoiselle.' 

4 1  believe  you,'  she  said,  taking  my  face  between 
her  two  hands  and  kissing  it. 

4  Who  ever  saw  Mile.  Genevieve  do  that  before ! ' 
said  Miss  Macy,  as  the  other  left  us.  4  She  is  not  apt 
to  like  the  scholars.' 


FRENCH:  DRESSES.  269 

I  knew  she  had  always  liked  me.  13ut  everybody 
had  always  liked  me,  I  reflected ;  this  time  at  school 
was  the  first  of  my  knowing  anything  different.  And 
in  this  there  now  canre  a  change.  Since  my  wear 
ing  and  using  the  Paris  things  sent  me  by  my 
mother,  which  I  dared  not  fail  to  use  and  wear,  I 
noticed  that  my  company  was  more  sought  in  the 
school.  Also  my  words  were  deferred  to,  in  a  way 
they  had  not  been  before.  I  found,  and  it  was  not  an 
unpleasant  thing,  that  I  had  grown  to  be  a  person  of 
consequence.  Even  with  the  French  and  English 
teachers  ;  I  observed  that  they  treated  me  with  more 
consideration.  Arid  so,  I  reflected  within  myself  again 
over  Dr.  Sandford's  observation,  '  Inhabit,  c'est 
rhomme.'  Of  course,  it  was  a  consideration  given  to 
my  clothes,  a  consideration  also  to  be  given  up  if  I  did 
not  wear  such  clothes.  I  saw  all  that.  The  world 
Jenew  me,  just  for  the  moment. 

Well,  the  smooth  way  was  very  pleasant.  I  had  it 
with  everybody  for  a  time. 

My  little  room-mate  and  classmate  St.  Clair  was  per 
haps  the  only  exception  to  the  general  rule.  I  never 
felt  that  she  liked  me  much.  She  let  me  alone  how 
ever  ;  until  one  unluck}?-  day  —  I  do  not  mean  to  call  it 
unlucky,  either  —  when  we  had,  as  usual,  compositions 
to  write,  and  the  theme  given  out  was  '  Ruins.'  It 
was  a  delightful  theme  to  me.  I  did  not  always  enjoy 
writing  compositions  ;  this  one  gave  me  permission  to 
roam  in  thoughts  and  imaginations  that  I  liked.  I 
went  back  to  my  old  Eg}'ptian  studies  at  Magnolia, 
and  wrote  my  composition  about  l  Karnak.'  The 
subject  was  full  in  my  memory  ;  I  had  gone  over  and 
over  and  all  through  it ;  I  had  measured  the  enormous 
23* 


270  DAISY. 

pillars  and  great  gateways,  and  studied  the  sculptures 
on  the  walls,  and  paced  up  and  down  the  great  avenue 
of  spliinxes.  Sethos,  and  Amunoph  and  Rameses, 
the  second  and  third,  were  all  known  and  familiar  to 
me  ;  and  I  knew  just  where  Shishak  had  recorded  his 
triumphs  over  the  land  of  Judea.  I  wrote  my  compo 
sition  with  the  greatest  delight.  The  only  danger  was 
that  I  might  make  it  too  long. 

One  evening  I  was  using  the  last  of  the  light,  writ 
ing  in  the  window  recess  of  the  school  parlour,  when 
I  felt  a  hand  laid  on  my  shoulders. 

'  You  are  so  hard  at  work  ! '  said  the  voice  of  Mile. 
Genevieve. 

'Yes,  mademoiselle,  I  like  it.' 

4  Have  you  got  all  the  books  and  all  that  you 
want?' 

'  Books,  mademoiselle  ? '  —  I  said  wondering. 

4  Yes  ;  have  you  got  all  you  want  ? ' 

4 1  have  not  got  any  books,'  I  said  ;  4  there  are  none 
that  I  want  in  the  school  library.' 

4  Have  3Tou  never  been  in  madame's  library?' 

4  No,  mademoiselle.' 

4  Come ! ' 

I  jumped  up  and  followed  her,  up  and  down  stairs 
and  through  halls  and  turnings,  till  she  brought  me 
into  a  pretty  room  lined  with  books  from  floor  to  ceil 
ing.  Nobody  was  there.  Mademoiselle  lit  the  gas 
with  great  energy  and  then  turned  to  me,  her  great 
black  eyes  shining. 

4  Now  what  do  you  want,  mon  enfant  ?  here  is  every 
thing.' 

4  Is  there  anything  about  Egypt  ? ' 

'Egypt!     Are  you  in    Egypt?  —  See  here  —  look, 


FRENCH  DRESSES.  271 

here  is  Denon  —  here  is  Laborde ;  here  is  two  or  three 
more.  Do  you  like  that?  Ah  !  I  see  by  the  way  your 
grey  eyes  grow  big  —  Now  sit  down,  and  do  what  you 
like.  Nobody  will  disturb  3rou.  You  can  come  here 
every  evening  for  the  hour  before  tea.' 

Mademoiselle  scarce  staid  for  my  thanks,  and  left 
me  alone.  I  had  not  seen  either  Laborde  or  Denon  in 
my  grandfather's  library  at  Magnolia  ;  they  were  after 
his  time.  The  engravings  and  illustrations  also  had 
not  been  very  many  or  very  fine  in  his  collection  of 
travellers'  books.  It  was  the  greatest  joy  to  me  to  see 
some  of  those  things  in  Mme.  Ricard's  library,  that  I 
had  read  and  dreamed  about  so  long  in  my  head.  It 
was  adding  eyesight  to  hearsay.  I  found  a  good  deal 
too  that  I  wanted  to  read,  in  these  later  authorities. 
Evening  after  evening  I  was  in  madame's  library,  lost 
among  the  halls  of  the  old  Egyptian  conquerors. 

The  interest  and  delight  of  my  work  quite  filled  me, 
so  that  the  fate  of  my  composition  hardly  came  into 
my  thoughts,  or  the  fact  that  other  people  were  writing 
compositions  too.  And  when  it  was  done,  I  was 
simply  very  sorry  that  it  was  done.  I  had  not  written 
it  for  honour  or  for  duty,  but  for  love.  I  suppose  that 
was  the  reason  why  it  succeeded.  I  remember  I  was 
anything  but  satisfied  with  it  myself,  as  I  was  reading 
it  aloud  for  the  benefit  of  my  judges.  For  it  was  a 
day  of  prize  compositions ;  and  before  the  whole 
school  and  even  some  visitors,  the  writings  of  the 
girls  were  given  aloud,  each  by  its  author.  I  thought, 
as  I  read  mine,  how  poor  it  was,  and  how  magnificent 
my  subject  demanded  that  it  should  be.  Under  the 
shade  of  the  great  columns,  before  those  fine  old 
sphinxes,  my  words  and  myself  seemed  very  small. 


*  * 

272  DAISY. 

I  sat  down  in  my  place  again,  glad  that  the  reading 
was  over. 

But  there  was  a  little  buzz ;  then  a  dead  expectant 
silence ;  then  Mme.  Ricard  arose.  My  composition 
had  been  the  last  one.  I  looked  up,  with  the  rest,  to 
hear  the  award  that  she  would  speak  ;  and  was  at  first 
very  much  confounded  to  hear  my  own  name  called. 
4  Miss  Randolph  — '  It  did  not  occur  to  me  what  it 
was  spoken  for ;  I  sat  still  a  moment  in  a  maze. 
Mme.  Ricard  stood  waiting ;  all  the  room  was  in  a 
hush. 

'  Don't  you  hear  yourself  called  ? '  said  a  voice  be 
hind  me.  c  Why  don't  you  go  ? ' 

I  looked  round  at  Miss  Macy ,  who  was  my  adviser, 
then  doubtfully  I  looked  away  from  her  and  caught  the 
eyes  of  Mile.  Genevieve.  She  nodded  and  beckoned 
me  to  come  forward.  I  did  it  hastily  then  and  found 
myself  curtseying  in  front  of  the  platform  where  stood 
madame. 

'  The  prize  is  yours,  Miss  Randolph,'  she  said  gra 
ciously.  l  Your  paper  is  approved  by  all  the  judges.* 

'  Quite  artistic,'  —  I  heard  a  gentleman  say  at  her 
elbow. 

4  And  it  shews  an  amount  of  thorough  study  and  per 
fect  preparation,  which  I  can  but  hold  up  as  a  model 
to  all  my  young  ladies.  You  deserve  this,  my  dear.' 

I  was  confounded;  and  a  low  curtsey  was  only  a 
natural  relief  to  my  feelings.  But  madame  unhappily 
took  it  otherwise. 

4  This  is  yours,'  she  said,  putting  into  my  hands  an 
elegant  little  bronze  standish  ;  — '  and  if  I  had  another 
prize  to  bestow  for  grace  of  good  manners,  I  am  sure  I 
would  have  the  pleasure  of  giving  you  that  too.' 


FRENCH  DRESSES.  273 

1  bent  again  before  madame,  and  got  back  to  my 
seat  as  I  could.  The  great  business  of  the  day  was 
over,  and  we  soon  scattered  to  our  rooms.  And  I  had 
not  been  in  mine  five  minutes  before  the  penalties  of 
being  distinguished  began  to  come  upon  me. 

4  Well,  Daisy  !  — '  said  Miss  Lansing  —  'you've  got 
it.  How  pretty  !  isn't  it,  Macy  ? ' 

4  It  isn't  a  bit  prettier  than  it  ought  to  be,  for  a  prize 
in  such  a  school,'  said  Miss  Macy.  4  It  will  do.' 

4  I've  seen  handsomer  prizes,'  said  Miss  Bentley. 

4  But  j^ou've  got  it,  more  ways  than  one,  Daisy,'  Miss 
Lansing  went  on.  4  I  declare  !  Aren't  you  a  distin 
guished  young  lady !  Madame,  too !  Why,  we  all 
used  to  think  we  behaved  pretty  well  before  company, 
—  didn't  we,  St.  Clair?' 

'  I  hate  favour  and  favouritism ! J  said  that  young 
lady,  her  upper  lip  taking  the  peculiar  turn  to  which 
my  attention  had  once  been  called.  '  Madame  likes 
whatever  is  French.' 

4  But  Randolph  is  not  French,  are  you,  Randolph  ?' 
said  Black-eyes,  who  was  good-natured  through  every 
thing. 

4  Madame  is  not  French  herself,'  said  Miss  Bentley. 
,     '  I  hate  everything  at  school ! '  St.  Clair  went  on. 

'  It  is  too  bad,'  said  her  friend.  4  Do  you  know, 
Daisy,  St.  Clair  always  has  the  prize  for  compositions. 
What  made  you  go  and  write  that  long  stuff  about 
Rameses  ?  the  people  didn't  understand  it,  and  so  they 
thought  it  was  fine.' 

4 1  am  sure  there  was  a  great  deal  finer  writing  in 
Faustina's  composition,'  said  Miss  Bentley. 

I  knew  very  well  that  Miss  St.  Clair  had  been  accus 
tomed  to  win  this  half  .yearly  prize  for  good  writing. 


274  DAISY. 

I  had  expected  nothing  but  that  she  would  win  it  this 
time,  t  had  counted  neither  on  my  oivn  success  nor  on 
the  displeasure  it  would  raise.  L  took  my  hat  and 
went  over  to  my  dear  Miss  Cardigan  ;  hoping  that  ill- 
humour  would  have  worked  itself  out  by  bedtime.  But 
I  was  mistaken. 

St.  Clair  and  I  had  been  pretty  near  each  other  in 
our  classes,  though  once  or  twice  lately  I  had  got  an 
advantage  over  her ;  but  we  had  kept  on  terms  of  cool 
social  distance  until  now.  Now  the  spirit  of  rivalry 
was  awake.  I  think  it  began  to  stir  at  my  Paris 
dresses  and  things  ;  Karnak  and  Mme.  Ricard  finished 
the  mischief. 

On  my  first  coming  to  school  I  had  been  tempted,  in 
my  horror  at  the  utter  want  of  privacy,  to  go  to  bed 
without  prayer  ;  waiting  till  the  rest  were  all  laid  down 
and  asleep  and  the  lights  out,  and  then  slipping  out  of 
bed  with  great  care  not  to  make  a  noise  and  watching 
that  no  whisper  of  my  lips  should  be  loud  enough  to 
disturb  anybody's  slumbers.  But  I  was  sure,  after  a 
while,  that  this  was  a  cowardly  way  of  doing ;  and  I 
could  not  bear  the  words,  '  Whosoever  shall  be  ashamed 
of  me  and  of  my  words,  of  him  shall  the  Son  of  man  be 
ashamed,  when  he  cometh  in  the  glory  of  his  Father/ 
I  determined  in  the  vacation  that  I  would  do  so  no 
more,  cost  what  it  might  the  contrary.  It  cost  a  tre 
mendous  struggle.  I  think,  in  all  my  life  I  have  done 
few  harder  things,  than  it  was  to  me  then  to  kneel 
down  by  the  side  of  my  bed  in  full  blaze  of  the  gas 
lights  and  with  four  curious  pairs  of  eyes  around  to 
look  on  ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  four  busy  tongues  wag 
ging  about  nothing  all  the  time.  I  remember  what  a 
hush  fell  upon  them  the  first  night ;  while  beyond  the 


FRENCH   DRESSES.  275 

posture  of  prayer  I  could  do  little.  Only  unformed  or 
half  formed  thoughts  and  petitions  struggled  in  my 
mind,  through  a  crowd  of  jostling  regrets  and  wishes 
and  confusions,  in  which  I  could  hardly  distinguish 
an}^thing.  But  no  explosion  followed,  of  either  ridicule 
or  amusement,  and  I  had  been  suffered  from  that  night 
to  do  as  I  would,  not  certainly  always  in  silence,  but 
quite  unmolested. 

I  had  carried  over  my  standish  to  Miss  Cardigan  to 
ask  her  to  take  care  of  it  for  me ;  I  had  no  place  to 
keep  it.  But  Miss  Cardigan  was  not  satisfied  to  see 
the  prize  ;  she  wanted  to  hear  the  essay  read  ;  and  was 
altogether  so  elated  that  a  little  undue  elation  perhaps 
crept  into  my  own  heart.  It  was  not  a  good  prepara 
tion  for  what  was  coming. 

I  went  home  in  good  time.  In  the  hall  however 
Mile.  Genevieve  seized  upon  me ;  she  had  several 
things  to  say,  and  before  I  got  up  stairs  to  my  room  all 
the  rest  of  its  inmates  were  in  bed.  1  hoped  they  were 
asleep.  I  heard  no  sound  while  I  was  undressing,  nor 
while  I  knelt,  as  usual  now,  by  my  bedside.  But  as  I 
rose  from  my  knees  I  was  startled  by  a  sort  of  grunt 
that  came  from  St.  Clair's  corner. 

4  Humph  !  —  Dear  me  !  we're  so  good,  —  Grace  and 
Devotion,  —  Christian  grace,  too  ! ' 

4  Hold  your  tongue,  St.  Clair,'  said  Miss  Macy,  but 
not  in  a  waj^,  I  thought,  to  check  her ;  if  she  could 
have  been  checked. 

1  But  it's  too  bad,  Macy,'  said  the  girl.  '  We're  all 
so  rough,  you  know.  We  don't  know  how  to  behave 
ourselves  ;  we  can't  make  curtsies  ;  our  mothers  never 
taught  us  anything,  —  and  dancing  masters  are  no 
good.  We  ought  to  go  to  Eg}Tpt.  There  isn't  any- 


276  DAISY. 

thing  so  truly  dignified  as  a  pyramid.  There  is  a  great 
deal  of  a  ploinb  there  ! 

4  Who  talked  about  a  plomb  V    said  Miss  Bentley. 

4  You  have  enough  of  that,  at  any  rate,  Faustina,' 
said  Lansing. 

'  Mrs.  St.  Glair's  child  ought  to  have  that,'  said  Miss 
Macy. 

4  Ah,  but  it  isn't  Christian  grace,  after  all,'  persisted 
Faustina.  4  You  want  a  cross  at  the  top  of  a  pyramid 
to  make  it  perfect.' 

4  Hush,  Faustina ! '  said  Miss  Macy. 

4  It's  fair/  —  said  Miss  Bentley. 

4  You  had  better  not  talk  about  Christian  grace, 
girls.  That  isn't  a  matter  of  opinion/ 

4  O,  isn't  it ! '  cried  St.  Clair,  half  rising  up  in  her 
bed.  4  What  is  it,  then?' 

Nobody  answered. 

4 1  say  !  —  Macy,  what  is  Christian  grace  —  if  you 
know  ?  If  you  don't  know,  I'll  put  you  in  the  way  to 
find  out.' 

4  How  shall  I  find  out?' 

4  Will  you  do  it,  if  I  shew  it  to  you?  ' 

4  Yes.' 

4  Ask  Randolph.  That's  the  first  step.  Ask  her,  — 
yes  !  just  ask  her,  if  you  want  to  know.  I  wish  Mme. 
Ricard  was  here  to  hear  the  answer.' 

4  Nonsense  ! '  said  Macy. 

4  Ask  her !     You  said  you  would.     Now  ask  her.' 

4  What  is  Christian  grace,  Daisy  ? '  said  Miss  Bent- 
ley. 

I  heard,  but  I  would  not  answer.  I  hoped  the  storm 
would  blow  over,  after  a  puff  or  two.  But  Black-eyes, 
without  any  ill-nature  I  think,  which  was  not  in  her. 


FRENCH  DRESSES.  277 

had  got  into  the  gale.  She  slipped  out  of  bed  and 
came  to  my  side,  putting  her  hand  on  my  shoulder  and 
bringing  her  laughing  mouth  down  near  my  ear.  A 
very  angry  impulse  moved  me  before  she  spoke. 

'  Daisy ! '  —  she  said  laughing  in  a  loud  whisper,  — 
4  come,  wake  up  !  you're  not  asleep,  you  know.  Wake 
up  and  tell  us ;  —  everybody  knows  you  know ;  —  what 
is  Christian  grace  ?  Daisy !  — ' 

She  shook  me  a  little. 

4  If  you  knew,  you  would  not  ask  me,'  —  I  said  in 
great  displeasure.  But  a  delighted  shout  from  all  my 
room-mates  answered  this  unlucky  speech,  which  I  had 
been  too  excited  to  make  logical. 

4  Capital!'  cried  St.  Clair.  'That's  just  it  —  we 
don't  know  ;  and  we  only  want  to  find  out  whether  she 
does.  Make  her  tell,  Lansing  —  prick  a  little  pin  into 
her  —  that  will  bring  it  out.' 

I  was  struggling  between  anger  and  sorrow,  feeling 
very  hurt,  and  at  the  same  time  determined  not  to  cry. 
I  kept  absolutely  still,  fighting  the  fight  of  silence 
with  ntyself.  Then  Lansing,  in  a  fit  of  thoughtless 
mischief,  finding  her  shakes  and  questions  vain, 
actually  put  in  practice  St.  Glair's  suggestion  and  at 
tacked  me  with  a  pin  from  the  dressing  table.  The 
first  prick  of  it  overthrew  the  last  remnant  of  my  pa 
tience. 

4  Miss  Lansing ! '  —  I  exclaimed,  rousing  up  in  bed 
and  confronting  her.  They  all  shouted  again. 

1  Now  we'll  have  it ! '  cried  St.  Clair.  «•  Keep  cool, 
Black-eyes ;  let's  hear  —  we'll  have  an  exposition  now. 
Theme,  Christian  grace.' 

Ah,  there  rushed  through  my  heart  with  her  words  a 
of  other  words  —  a  fluttering  vision  of 
24 


278  DAISY. 

something  l  gentle  and  easy  to  be  entreated  '  —  *  first 
pure,  then  peaceable'  —  'gentleness,  goodness,  meek 
ness.' —  But  the  grip  of  passion  held  them  all  down  or 
kept  them  all  back.  After  St.  Glair's  first  burst,  the 
girls  were  still  and  waited  for  what  I  would  say.  I 
was  facing  Miss  Lansing,  who  had  taken  her  hand  from 
my  shoulder. 

'  Are  yon  not  ashamed  of  yourself  ? '  I  said  ;  and  I 
remember  I  thought  how  my  mother  would  have  spoken 
to  them.  '  Miss  Lansing's  good  nature '  —  I  went  on 
slowly,  — '  Miss  Macy's  kindness  —  Miss  Bentley's  in 
dependence  —  and  Miss  St.  Glair's  good  breeding  ! '  — 

4 And  Miss  Randolph's  religion!'  echoed  the  last- 
named,  with  a  quiet  distinctness  which  went  into  my 
heart. 

'  What  about  my  independence  ? '  said  Miss  Bentley. 

'  Now  we've  got  enough,  girls,  — lie  down  and  go  to 
sleep,'  said  Miss  Macy.  'There's  quite  enough  of 
this.  There  was  too  much  before  we  began.  Stop 
where  you  are/ 

They  did  not  stop,  however,  without  a  good  deal  of 
noisy  chaffing  and  arguing,  none  of  which  I  heard. 
Only  the  words,  4  Miss  Randolph's  religion,'  rung  in 
iny  ears.  I  lay  down  with  them  lying  like  lead  on  my 
heart.  I  went  to  sleep  under  them.  I  woke  up  early, 
while  all  the  rest  were  asleep,  and  began  to  study 
them. 

4  Miss  Randolph's  religion  ! '  If  it  had  been  only 
that,  only  mine.  But  the  religion  I  professed  was  the 
religion  of  Christ ;  the  name  I  was  called  by  was  his 
name ;  the  thing  I  had  brought  into  discredit  was  his 
truth.  I  hope  in  all  my  life  I  may  never  know  again 
the  heart-pangs  that  this  thought  cost  me.  I  studio^ 


DRESSES.  279 


how  to  undo  the  mischief  I  had  done.  I  could  find  no 
way.  I  had  seemed  to  prove  my  religion  an  unsteady, 
superficial  thing  ;  the  evidence  I  had  given  I  could  not 
withdraw  ;  it  must  stand.  I  lay  thinking,  with  the 
heartache,  until  the  rousing  bell  rang,  and  the  sleepers 
began  to  stir  from  their  slumbers.  I  got  up  and  began 
to  dress  with  the  rest. 

4  What  was  it  all  that  happened  last  night?'  said 
Miss  Lansing. 

4  Advancement  in  knowledge,'  —  said  Miss  St.  Clair. 

4  Now  girls  —  don't  begin  again/  said  Miss  Macy. 

'  Knowledge  is  a  good  thing,'  said  the  other  with 
pins  in  her  month.  '  I  intend  to  take  every  opportunity 
that  offers  of  increasing  mine  ;  especially  I  mean  to 
study  Egyptians  and  Christians.  I  haven't  any  Chris 
tians  among  my  own  family  or  acquaintance  —  so  you 
see,  naturally,  Macy,  I  am  curious  ;  and  when  a  good 
specimen  offers  —  * 

1  1  am  not  a  good  specimen,'  I  said. 

'  People  are  not  good  judges  of  themselves,  it  is 
said,'  the  girl  went  on.  '  Everybod}^  considers  Miss 
Randolph  a  sample  of  what  that  article  ought  to  be.' 

'  You  don't  use  the  word  right,'  remarked  Miss  Macy. 
4  A  sample  is  taken  from  what  is,  —  not  from  what 
ought  to  be.' 

4  1  don't  care,'  was  St.  Clair's  reply. 

4  1  did  not  behave  like  a  Christian  last  night,'  I  forced 
myself  to  say.  4  1  was  impatient.' 

4  Like  an  impatient  Christian  then,  I  suppose,'  said 
St.  Clair. 

I  felt  myself  getting  impatient  again,  with  all  iny 
sorrow  and  humiliation  of  heart.  And  yet  more 
humbled  at  the  consciousness,  I  hastened  to  set  out  of 


280  DAISY. 

the  room.  It  was  a  miserable  day,  that  day  of  my  first 
school  triumphs,  and  so  were  several  more  that  followed. 
I  was  very  busy ;  I  had  no  time  for  recollection  and 
prayer  ;  I  was  in  the  midst  of  gratulations  and  plaudits 
from  my  companions  and  the  teachers  ;  and  I  missed, 
O  how  I  missed,  the  praise  of  God.  I  felt  like  a  traitor. 
In  the  heat  of  the  fight,  I  had  let  my  colours  come  to 
the  ground.  I  had  dishonoured  my  Captain.  Some 
would  say  it  was  a  little  thing ;  but  I  felt  then  and  I 
know  now,  there  are  no  little  things ;  I  knew  I  had 
done  harm  ;  how  much,  it  was  utterly  beyond  my  reach 
to  know. 

As  soon  as  I  could  I  seized  an  opportunity  to  get  to 
Miss  Cardigan.  I  found  her  among  her  flowers,  nip 
ping  off  here  a  leaf  and  there  a  flower  that  had  passed 
its  time  ;  so  busy,  that  for  a  few  moments  she  did  not 
see  that  I  was  different  from  usual.  .  Then  came  the 
question  which  I  had  been  looking  for. 

4 Daisy,  you  are  not  right  to-day?' 

1 1  haven't  been  right  since  I  got  that  standish,'  I 
burst  forth. 

Miss  Cardigan  looked  at  me  again,  and  then  did 
what  I  had  not  expected  ;  she  took  my  head  between 
her  two  hands  and  kissed  me.  Not  loosing  her  hold, 
she  looked  into  my  face. 

4  What  is  it,  my  pet?' 

4  Miss  Cardigan,'  I  said, '  can  any  one  be  a  Christian 
and  yet  —  yet  — ' 

4  Do  something  unworthy  a  Christian? '  she  said.  4 1 
wot  well,  they  can !  But  then,  they  are  weak  Chris 
tians.' 

I  knew  that  before.  But  somehow,  hearing  her  say 
it  brought  the  shame  and  the  sorrow  more  fresh  to  the 


FRENCH  DRESSES.  281 

surface.  The  tears  came.  Miss  Cardigan  palled  me 
into  the  next  room  and  sat  down,  drawing  me  into  her 
arms  ;  and  I  wept  there  with  her  arms  about  me. 

4  What  then,  Daisy  ? '  she  asked  at  length,  as  if  the 
suspense  pained  her. 

4 1  acted  so,  Miss  Cardigan,'  I  said  ;  and  I  told  her 
about  it. 

4  So  the  devil  has  found  a  weak  spot  in  your  armour,' 
she  said.  4  You  must  guard  it  well,  Daisy/ 

'How  can  I?' 

4  How  can  you  ?  Keep  your  shield  before  it,  my 
bairn.  What  is  your  shield  for?  The  Lord  has  given 
you  a  great  strong  shield,  big  enough  to  cover  you 
from  head  to  foot,  if  your  hands  know  how  to  manage 
it.' 

4  What  is  that,  Miss  Cardigan? ' 

4  The  shield  of  faith,  dear.  Only  believe.  According 
to  your  faith  be  it  unto  you/ 

4 Believe  what?'  I  asked,  lifting  my  head  at  last. 

4  Believe  that  if  you  are  a  weak  little  soldier,  your 
Captain  knows  all  about  it ;  and  any  fight  that  you  go 
into  for  his  sake,  he  will  bear  you  through.  I  don't 
care  what.  Any  fight,  Daisy/ 

4  But  I  got  impatient,'  I  said,  4  at  the  girls'  way  of 
talking/ 

4  And  perhaps  you  were  a  wee  bit  set  up  in  your 
heart  because  you  had  got  the  prize  of  the  day/ 

'Proud?'  said  I. 

4  Don't  it  look  like  it  ?  Even  proud  of  being  a 
Christian,  mayhap/ 

4  Could  I  !'  —  I  said.    'Was  I?' 

4  It  wouldn't  be  the  first  time  one  with  as  little  cause 
24* 


282  DAISY. 

ha<\  got,  puffed  up  a  bit.     But  heavenly  charity  "  is  not 
puffed  up." ' 

'  I  know  that '  —  I  said  ;  and  my  tears  started  afresh. 

4  How  shall  I  help  it  in  future  ? '  I  asked  after  a 
while,  during  which  my  friend  had  been  silent. 

4  Help  it  ?  '  she  said  cheerfully.  *  You  can't  help 
it,  —  but  Jesus  can.' 

4  But  my  impatience,  and  —  my  pride/  I  said,  very 
downcast. 

* 4  44  Rejoice  not  against  me,  O  mine  enemy ;  when  I 
fall  I  shall  arise."  But  there  is  no  need  you  should 
fall,  Daisy.  Remember,  44  The  Lord  is  able  to  make 
him  stand"  —  may  be  said  of  every  one  of  the  Lord's 
people.' 

4  But  wrill  he  keep  me  from  impatience,  and  take 
pride  out  of  my  heart?  Why,  I  did  not  know  it  was 
there.  Miss  Cardigan.' 

4  Did  he  sn.y,  4'  Whatsoever  ye  shall  ask  in  my  name, 
I  will  do  it"  ?  And  when  he  has  written  u  Whatso 
ever,"  are  you  going  to  write  it  over  and  put  "  any 
thing  not  too  hard  "  ?  Neither  you  nor  me,  Daisy  ! ' 

4  44  Whatsoever"  — Miss  Cardigan?'  I  said  slowly. 

4  He  said  so.  Are  you  going  to  write  it  over 
again  ? ' 

;  No,'  I  said.  4  But  then,  may  one  have  anything  one 
asks  for  ? ' 

4  Anything  in  the  world  —  if  it  is  not  contrary  to  his 
will  —  provided  we  ask  in  faith,  nothing  doubting. 
u  For  he  that  wavereth  is  like  a  wave  of  the  sea,  driven 
with  the  wind  and  tossed.  For  let  not  that  man  think 
that  he  shall  receive  anything  of  the  Lord." ' 

4  But  how  can  we  7mow  what  is  according  to  his 
will?' 


FRENCH   DRESSES.  283 

4  This  is,  at  any  rate,'  said  Miss  Cardigan;  'for  he 
has  commanded  us  to  be  holy  as  he  is  holy.' 

4  But  —  other  things? '  I  said.  4  How  can  one  ask  for 
everything  "in  faith,  nothing  wavering"  ?  How  can 
one  be  sure?' 

'  Only  just  this  one  way,  Daisy  my  dear/  Miss 
Cardigan  answered ;  and  I  remember  to  this  day  the 
accent  of  her  native  land  which  touched  every  word. 
4  If  ye're  wholly  the  Lord's  —  wholly,  mind,  —  ye'll 
not  like  ought  but  what  the  Lord  likes  ;  ye'll  know  what 
to  ask  for,  and  ye'll  know  the  Lord  will  give  it  to  you , 
—  that  is,  if  ye  want  it  enough.  But  a  "  double-minded 
man  is  unstable  in  all  his  ways  ;  "  and  his  prayers  can't 
hit  the  mark,  no  more  than  a  gun  that's  twisted  when 
it's  going  off.' 

4  Then,'  —  I  began  and  stopped,  looking  at  her  with 
my  eyes  full  of  tears. 

4  Ay  ! '  she  said,  — 4  just  so.  There's  no  need  that 
you  nor  me  should  be  under  the  power  of  the  evil  one, 
for  we're  free.  The  Lord's  words  aren't  too  good  to  be 
true  ;  every  one  of  'em  is  as  high  as  heaven  ;  and  there 
isn't  a  sin  nor  an  enemy  but  you  and  I  may  be  safe 
from,  if  we  trust  the  Lord.' 

I  do  not  remember  any  more  of  the  conversation.  I 
only  know  that  the  sun  rose  on  my  difficulties,  and  the 
shadows  melted  away.  I  had  a  happy  evening  with 
my  dear  old  friend,  and  went  home  quite  heart-whole. 


284  DAISY. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

GEET   COATS. 

I  WENT  back  to  school  comforted.  I  had  got  strength 
to  face  all  that  might  be  coming  in  the  future.  And 
life  has  been  a  different  thing  to  me  ever  since.  Paul's 
words,  'lean  do  all  things  through  Christ/ — I  have 
learned  are  not  his  words  any  more  than  mine. 

From  that  time  I  grew  more  and  more  popular  in 
the  school.  I  cannot  tell  why ;  but  popularity  is  a 
thing  that  grows  upon  its  own  growth.  It  was  only  a 
little  while  before  my  companions  almost  all  made  a 
pet  of  me.  It  is  humbling  to  know  that  this  effect  was 
hastened  by  some  of  the  French  dresses  my  mother  had 
sent  me,  and  which  convenience  obliged  me  to  wear. 
They  were  extremely  pretty  ;  the  girls  came  round  me 
to  know  where  I  got  them,  and  talked  about  who  I  was  ; 
and  '  Daisy  Randolph,'  was  the  name  most  favoured  by 
their  lips  from  that  time  until  school  closed.  With  the 
exception,  I  must  add,  of  my  four  room-mates.  Miss 
St.  Clair  held  herself  entirely  aloof  from  me,  and  the 
others  chose  her  party  rather  than  mine.  St.  Clair 
never  lost,  I  think,  any  good  chance  or  omitted  any 
fair  scheme  to  provoke  me ;  but  all  she  could  do  had 
lost  its  power.  I  tried  to  soften  her ;  but  Faustina 
was  a  rock  to  my  advances.  I  knew  I  had  done  irrep- 


GREY  COATS.  285 

arable  wrong  that  evening ;  the  thought  of  it  was  al 
most  the  only  trouble  I  had  during  those  months. 

An  old  trouble  was  brought  suddenly  home  to  me 
one  day.  I  was  told  a  person  wanted  to  speak  to  me 
in  the  lower  hall.  I  ran  down,  and  found  Margaret. 
She  was  in  the  cloak  and  dress  I  had  bought  for  her ; 
looking  at  first  very  gleeful,  and  then  very  business 
like,  as  she  brought  out  from  under  her  cloak  a  bit  of 
paper  folded  with  something  in  it. 

4  What  is  this?'  I  said,  finding  a  roll  of  bills. 

4  It's  my  wages,  Miss  Daisy.  I  only  kept  out  two 
dollars,  ma'am  —  I  wanted  a  pair  of  shoes  so  bad  — 
and  I  couldn't  be  let  go  about  the  house  in  them  old 
shoes  with  holes  in  'em ;  there  was  holes  in  both  of 
'em,  Miss  Daisy.' 

' But  your  wages,  Margaret? '  I  said — 1 1  have  noth 
ing  to  do  with  your  wages.' 

4  Yes,  Miss  Daisy  —  they  belongs  to  master,  and  I 
allowed  to  bring  'em  to  you.  They's  all  there  so  fur. 
It's  all  right.' 

I  felt  the  hot  shame  mounting  to  my  face.  I  put 
the  money  back  in  Margaret's  hand,  and  hurriedly  told 
her  to  keep  it ;  we  were  not  at  Magnolia  ;  she  might  do 
what  she  liked  with  the  money ;  it  was  her  own  earn 
ings. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  girl's  confounded  look,  and 
then  her  grin  of  brilliant  pleasure.  I  could  have  burst 
into  tears  as  I  went  up  the  stairs,  thinking  of  others  at 
home.  Yet  the  question  came  too,  would  my  father 
like  what  I  had  been  doing?  He  held  the  girl  to  be 
his  property  and  her  earnings  his  earnings.  Had  I 
been  giving  Margaret  a  lesson  in  rebellion,  and  pre 
paring  her  to  claim  her  rights  at  some  future  day? 


286  DAISY. 

Perhaps.  And  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  did  not 
care.  Live  upon  stolen  money  I  would  not,  —  any 
more  than  I  could  help.  But  was  I  not  living  on  it 
all  the  while  ?  The  old  subject  brought  back  !  I  wor 
ried  over  it  all  the  rest  of  the  day,  with  many  a  look 
forward  and  back. 

As  the  time  of  the  vacation  drew  near,  I  looked 
hard  for  news  of  my  father  and  mother,  or  tidings  of 
their  coming  home.  There  were  none.  Indeed,  I  got 
no  letters  at  all.  That  was  nothing  to  cause  uneasi 
ness  ;  the  intervals  were  often  long  between  one  packet 
of  letters  and  the  next ;  but  now  I  wanted  to  hear  of 
some  change,  now  that  the  school  year  was  ended.  It 
had  been  a  good  year  to  me.  In  that  little  world  I  had 
met  and  faced  some  of  the  hardest  temptations  of  the 
great  world ;  they  could  never  be  new  to  me  again ; 
and  I  had  learned  both  my  weakness  and  my  strength. 

No  summons  to  happiness  reached  me  that  year. 
My  vacation  was  spent  again  with  my  aunt  Gary,  and 
without  Preston.  September  saw  me  quietly  settled  at 
my  studies  for  another  school  year  ;  to  be  gone  through 
with  what  patience  I  might. 

That  school  j^ear  had  nothing  to  chronicle.  I  was 
very  busy,  very  popular,  kindly  treated  by  my  teach 
ers,  and  happy  in  a  smooth  course  of  life.  Faustina 
St.  Clair  had  been  removed  from  the  school ;  to  some 
other  I  believe ;  and  with  her  went  all  my  causes  of 
annoyance.  The  year  rolled  round,  my  father  and 
mother  in  China  or  on  the  high  seas  ;  and  my  sixteenth 
summer  opened  upon  me. 

A  day  or  two  before  the  close  of  school,  I  was  called 
to  the  parlour  to  see  a  lady.  Not  my  aunt ;  it  was 
Mrs.  Sandford  ;  and  the  doctor  was  with  her. 


GREY  COATS.  287 

I  had  not  seen  Mrs.  Sandford,  I  must  explain,  for 
nearly  a  year  ;  she  had  been  away  in  another  part  of 
the  country,  far  from  New  York. 

4  Why  Daisy !  —  is  this  Daisy  ? '  she  exclaimed. 

4 Is  it  not?'  I  asked. 

4  Not  the  old  Daisy.  You  are  so  grown,  my  dear ! 
—  so  —  That's  right,  Grant ;  let  us  have  a  little  light 
to  see  each  other  by.' 

4  It  is  Miss  Randolph  — '  said  the  doctor,  after  he 
had  drawn  up  the  window  shade. 

4  Like  her  mother !  isn't  she  ?  and  yet,  not  like  — ' 

4  Not  at  all  like.' 

4  She  is,  though,  Grant ;  you  are  mistaken ;  she  is 
like  her  mother;  though  as  I  said,  she  isn't.  I  never 
saw  anybody  so  improved.  My  dear,  I  shall  tell  all 
my  friends  to  send  their  daughters  to  Mme.  Ricard.' 

'  Dr.  Sandford,'  said  I,  4  Mme.  Ricard  does  not  like 
to  have  the  sun  shine  into  this  room.' 

4  It's  Daisy  too,'  said  the  doctor  smiling,  as  he  drew 
down  the  shade  again.  '  Don't  you  like  it,  Miss 
Daisy?' 

4  Yes,  of  course,'  I  said  ;  4  but  she  does  not.' 

4  It  is  not  at  all  a  matter  of  course,'  said  he  ;  '  except 
as  you  are  Daisy.  Some  people,  as  you  have  just  told 
me,  are  afraid  of  the  sun.' 

4  O  that  is  only  for  the  carpets,'  I  said. 

Dr.  Sandford  gave  me  a  good  look,  like  one  of  his 
looks  of  old  times,  that  carried  me  right  back  somehow 
to  Juanita's  cottage. 

4  How  do  you  do,  Daisy  ? ' 

4  A  little  pale,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford. 

4  Let  her  speak  for  herself.' 

I  said  I  did  not  know  I  was  pale. 


285  DAISY. 

1  Did  you  know  you  had  headache  a  good  deal  of  the 
time?' 

4  Yes,  Dr.  Sandford,  I  knew  that.  It  is  not  very 
bad.' 

4  Does  not  hinder  you  from  going  on  with  study?' 

4  O  no,  never.' 

4  You  have  a  good  deal  of  time  for  study  at  night 
too,  do  you  not?  —  after  the  lights  are  out?' 

4  At  night  ?  how  did  you  know  that  ?  But  it  is  not 
alwaj's  study.' 

4  No.  You  consume  also  a  good  deal  of  beef  and 
mutton,  now-a-days?  you  prefer  substantials  in  food 
as  in  everything  else  ? ' 

I  looked  at  my  guardian,  very  much  surprised  that 
he  should  see  all  this  in  my  face,  and  with  a  little  of 
my  childish  fascination  about  those  steady  blue  eyes. 
I  could  not  deny  that  in  these  days  I  scarcely  lived  by 
eating.  But  in  the  eagerness  and  pleasure  of  my  pur 
suits  I  had  not  missed  it,  and  amid  my  many  busy  and 
anxious  thoughts  I  had  not  cared  about  it. 

4  That  will  do,'  said  the  doctor.  4  Daisy,  have  you 
heard  lately  from  your  father  or  mother  ? ' 

My  breath  came  short,  as  I  said  no. 

4  Nor  have  I.  Failing  orders  from  them,  you  are 
bound  to  respect  mine  ;  and  I  order  you  change  of  air, 
and  to  go  wherever  Mrs.  Sandford  proposes  to  take 
you.' 

4  Not  before  school  closes,  Dr.  Sandford? ' 

4  Do  you  care  about  that  ? ' 

4  My  dear  child,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford,  4  we  are  going 
to  West  Point  —  and  we  want  to  take  you  with  us.  I 
know  you  will  enjoy  it,  my  dear ;  and  I  shall  be  de 
lighted  to  have  you.  But  we  want  to  go  next  week.' 


GREY   COATS.  289 

*  Do  you  care,  Daisy?  '  Dr.  Sandford  repeated. 

I  had  to  consider.  One  week  more,  and  the  exami 
nation  would  be  over  and  the  school  term  ended.  I 
was  ready  for  the  examination ;  I  expected  to  keep  my 
standing,  which  was  very  high  ;  by  going  away  now  I 
should  lose  that,  and  miss  some  distinction.  So  at 
least  I  thought.  I  found  that  several  things  were  at 
work  in  my  heart  that  I  had  not  known  were  there. 
After  a  «ninute  I  told  Mrs.  Sandford  I  would  go  with 
her  when  she  pleased. 

4  You  have  made  up  your  mind  that  you  do  not  care 
about  staying  to  the  end  here  ? '  said  the  doctor. 

fc  Dr.  Nandford,'  I  said,  '  I  believe  I  do  care  ;  but  not 
about  anything  worth  while.' 

He  took  both  my  hands,  standing  before  me,  and 
looked  at  me,  I  thought,  as  if  I  were  the  old  little  child 
again. 

4  A  course  of  fresh  air,'  he  said, '  will  do  you  more 
good  than  a  course  of  any  other  thing  just  now.  And 
we  may  find  "  wonderful  things  "  at  West  Point,  Daisy.' 

4 1  expect  you  will  enjoy  it,  Daisy,'  Mrs.  Sandford 
repeated. 

There  was  no  fear.  I  knew  I  should  see  Preston  at 
any  rate  ;  and  I  had  been  among  brick  walls  for  many 
months.  I  winced  a  little  at  thought  of  missing  all  I 
had  counted  upon  at  the  close  of  term ;  but  it  was 
mainly  pride  that  winced,  so  it  was  no  matter. 

We  left  the  city  three  or  four  days  later.  It  was  a 
June  day  —  can  I  ever  forget  it  ?  What  a  brilliance  of 
remembrance  comes  over  me  now  !  The  bustle  of  the 
close  schoolrooms,  the  heat  and  dust  of  the  sunny  city 
streets,  were  all  left  behind  in  an  hour  ;  and  New  York 
was  nowhere  !  The  waves  of  the  river  sparkled  under 
25 


290  DAISY. 

a  summer  breeze ;  the  wall  of  the  palisades  stretched 
along,  like  the  barriers  of  fairyland ;  so  they  seemed 
to  me  ;  only  the  barrier  was  open  and  I  was  about  to 
enter.  So  till  their  grey  and  green  ramparts  were 
passed,  and  the  broader  reaches  of  the  river  bej^ond, 
and  as  evening  began  to  draw  in  we  came  to  higher 
shores  and  a  narrower  channel  and  were  threading  our 
way  among  the  lights  and  shadows  of  opposing  head 
lands  and  hilltops.  It  grew  but  more  fresh  and  fair  as 
the  sun  got  lower.  Then  in  a  place  where  the  riv 
er  seemed  to  come  to  an  end,  the  'Pipe  of  Peace' 
drew  close  in  under  the  western  shore,  to  a  landing. 
Buildings  of  grey  stone  clustered  and  looked  over  the 
bank.  Close  under  the  bank's  green  fringes  a  little 
boat-house  and  large  clean  wooden  pier  received  us ; 
from  the  landing  a  road  went  steeply  sloping  up.  I 
see  it  all  now  in  the  colours  which  clothed  it  then.  I 
think  I  entered  fairyland  when  I  touched  foot  to  shore. 
Even  down  at  the  landing,  everything  was  clean  and 
fresh  and  in  order.  The  green  branches  of  that  thick 
fringe  which  reached  to  the  top  of  the  bank  had  no  dust 
on  them ;  the  rocks  were  parti-coloured  with  lichens ; 
the  river  was  bright,  flowing  and  rippling  past ;  the 
4  Pipe  of  Peace '  had  pushed  off  and  sped  on  and  in 
another  minute  or  two  was  turning  the  point,  and  then 
—  out  of  sight.  Stillness  seemed  to  fill  the  woods  and 
the  air  as  the  beat  of  her  paddles  was  lost.  I  breathed 
stillness.  New  York  was  fifty  miles  away,  physically 
and  morally  at  the  antipodes. 

I  find  it  hard  to  write  without  epithets.  As  I  said  I 
was  in  fairyland ;  and  how  shall  one  describe  fairy 
land? 

Dr.  Sandford  broke  upon  my  reverie  by  putting  me 


GREY  COATS.  291 

into  the  omnibus.  But  the  omnibus  quite  belonged  to 
fairyland  too  ;  it  did  not  go  rattling  and  jolting,  but 
stole  quietly  up  the  long  hill ;  letting  me  enjoy  a  view 
of  the  river  and  the  hills  of  the  opposite  shore,  coloured 
as  they  were  by  the  setting  sun,  and  crisp  and  sharp 
in  the  cool  June  air.  Then  a  great  round-topped 
building  came  in  place  of  my  view ;  the  road  took  a 
turn  behind  it. 

4  What  is  that?  '  I  asked  the  doctor. 

*  I  am  sorry,  Daisy,  I  don't  know.    I  am  quite  as  ig 
norant  as  yourself.' 

4  That  is  the  riding-hall,'  I  heard  somebody  say. 

One  omnibus  full  had  gone  up  before  us  ;  and  there 
were  only  two  or  three  people  in  ours  besides  our  own 
party.  I  looked  round,  and  saw  that  the  information 
had  been  given  by  a  young  man  in  a  sort  of  uniform ; 
he  was  all  in  grey,  with  large  round  gilt  buttons  on  his 
coat,  and  a  soldier's  cap.  The  words  had  been  spoken 
in  a  civil  tone,  that  tempted  me  on. 

4  Thank  you  ! '  I  said.  4  The  riding-hall !  —  who 
rides  in  it?' 

*  We  do,'  he  said,  and  then  smiled,  —  *  the  cadets.' 
It  was  a  frank  smile  and  a  pleasant  face  and  utterly 

the  look  of  a  gentleman.  So,  though  I  saw  that  he 
was  very  much  amused,  either  at  himself  or  me,  I  went 
on. 

'  And  those  other  buildings  ? ' 

4  Those  are  the  stables.' 

I  wondered  at  the  neat  beautiful  order  of  the  place. 
Then,  the  omnibus  slowly  mounting  the  hill,  the  riding 
hall  and  stables  were  lost  to  sight.  Another  building, 
of  more  pretension,  appeared  on  our  left  hand,  on  the 
brow  of  the  ascent ;  our  road  turned  the  corner  round 


292  DAISY. 

this  building,  and  beneath  a  grove  of  young  trees  the 
gothic  buttresses  and  windows  of  grey  stone  peeped 
out.  Carefully  dressed  green  turf,  with  gravelled 
walks  leading  from  different  directions  to  the  doors, 
looked  as  if  this  was  a  place  of  business.  Somebody 
pulled  the  string  here  and  the  omnibus  stopped. 

4  This  is  the  library,'  my  neighbour  in  grey  remarked  ; 
and  with  that  rising  and  lifting  his  cap,  he  jumped  out. 
I  watched  him  rapidly  walking  into  the  library ;  he 
was  tall,  very  erect,  with  a  fine  free  carriage  and  firm 
step.  But  then  the  omnibus  was  moving  on  and  I 
turned  to  the  other  side.  And  the  beauty  took  away 
my  breath.  There  was  the  green  plain,  girdled  with 
trees  and  houses,  beset  with  hills  the  tops  of  which 
I  could  see  in  the  distance,  with  the  evening  light 
upon  them.  The  omnibus  went  straight  over  the 
plain ;  green  and  smooth  and  fresh,  it  lay  on  the  one 
side  and  on  the  other  side  of  us,  excepting  one  broad 
strip  on  the  right.  I  wondered  what  had  taken  off  the 
grass  there ;  but  then  we  passed  within  a  hedge  en 
closure  and  drew  up  at  the  hotel  steps. 

4  Have  you  met  an  acquaintance  already,  Daisy  ? ' 
Dr.  Sandford  asked  as  he  handed  me  out. 

4 An  acquaintance?'  said  I.  'No,  but  I  shall  find 
him  soon,  I  suppose.'  For  I  was  thinking  of  Preston. 
But  I  forgot  Preston  the  next  minute.  Mrs.  Sandford 
had  seized  my  hand  and  drew  me  up  the  piazza  steps 
and  through  the  hall,  out  to  the  piazza  at  the  north 
side  of  the  house.  I  was  in  fairyland  surely !  I  had 
thought  so  before,  but  I  knew  it  now.  Those  grand 
hills,  in  the  evening  colours,  standing  over  against 
each  other  on  the  east  and  on  the  west,  and  the  full 
magnificent  river  tying  between  them,  bright  and  stately, 


GREY  COATS.  293 

were  like  nothing  I  had  ever  seen  or  imagined.  My 
memory  goes  back  now  to  point  after  point  of  delight 
which  bewildered  me.  There  was  a  dainty  little  sail 
sweeping  across  just  at  the  bend  of  the  river ;  I  have 
seen  many  since  ;  I  never  forget  that  one.  There  was 
a  shoulder  of  one  of  the  eastern  hills,  thrown  out  to 
wards  the  southwest,  over  which  the  evening  light  fell 
in  a  mantle  of  soft  gold,  with  a  fold  of  shadow  on  the 
other  side.  The  tops  of  those  eastern  hills  were  warm 
with  sunlight,  and  here  and  there  a  slope  of  the  west 
ern  hills.  There  was  a  point  of  lower  ground,  thrust 
out  into  the  river  between  me  and  the  eastern  shore, 
which  lay  wholly  in  shadow,  one  soft  mass  of  dusky 
green,  rounding  out  into  a  promontory.  Above  it,  be 
yond  it,  at  the  foot  of  the  hills,  a  white  church  spire 
rose  sharp  as  a  needle.  It  is  all  before  me,  even  the 
summer  stillness  in  which  my  senses  were  rapt. 
There  was  a  clatter  in  the  house  behind  me,  but  I  did 
not  hear  it  then. 

I  was  obliged  to  go  away  to  get  ready  for  tea.  The 
house  was  full ;  only  one  room  could  be  spared  for 
Mrs.  Sandford  and  me.  That  one  had  been  engaged 
beforehand,  and  its  window  looked  over  the  same  view 
I  had  seen  from  the  piazza.  I  took  my  post  at  this 
window  while  waiting  for  Mrs.  Sandford.  Cooler  and 
crisper  the  lights,  cooler  and  grayer  the  shadows  had 
grown  ;  the  shoulder  of  the  east  mountain  had  lost  its 
mantle  of  light ;  just  a  gleam  rested  on  a  peak  higher 
up  ;  and  my  single  white  sail  was  getting  small  in  the 
distance,  beating  up  the  river.  I  was  very  happy. 
My  school  year,  practically,  was  finished,  and  I  was 
vaguely  expecting  some  order  or  turn  of  affairs  which 
would  join  me  to  my  father  and  mother.  I  remember 
25* 


294  DAISY. 

well  what  a  flood  of  satisfied  joy  poured  into  my  heart 
as  I  stood  at  the  window.  I  seemed  to  myself  so  very 
rich,  to  taste  all  that  delight  of  hills  and  river  ;  the  rich 
ness  of  God's  giving  struck  me  with  a  sort  of  wonder. 
And  then,  being  so  enriched,  and  tasting  the  deep  treas 
ures  of  heaven  and  earth  which  I  had  been  made  to 
know,  happy  so  exceeding!}', —  it  came  to  my  heart 
with  a  kind  of  pang,  the  longing  to  make  others  know 
what  I  knew  ;  and  the  secret  determination  to  use  all 
my  strength  as  Christ's  servant, —  in  bringing  others 
to  the  joy  of  the  knowledge  of  him. 

I  was  called  from  my  window  then,  and  my  view  was 
exchanged  for  the  crowded  dining-room,  where  I  could 
eat  nothing.  But  after  tea  we  got  out  upon  the  piazza 
again,  and  a  soft  northwest  breeze  seemed  to  be  food 
and  refreshment  too.  Mrs.  Sandford  soon  found  a 
colonel  and  a  general  to  talk  to  ;  but  Dr.  Sandford  sat 
down  by  me. 

4  How  do  you  like  it,  Daisy?  '• 

I  told  him,  and  thanked  him  for  bringing  me. 

4  Are  you  tired  ? ' 

1  No  —  I  don't  think  I  am  tired/ 

'  You  are  not  hungry  of  course,  for  you  can  eat  noth 
ing.  Do  you  think  you  shall  sleep  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  feel  like  it  now.  I  do  not  generally  get 
sleepy  till  a  great  while  after  this.' 

'  You  will  go  to  sleep  somewhere  about  nine  o'clock,' 
said  the  doctor  ;  '  and  not  wake  up  till  you  are  called 
in  the  morning.' 

I  thought  he  was  mistaken,  but  as  I  could  not  prove 
it  I  said  nothing. 

'  Are  you  glad  to  get  away  from  school?' 


GREY  COATS.  295 

4  On  some  accounts.  I  like  school  too,  Dr.  Sand- 
ford  ;  but  there  are  some  things  I  do  not  like.' 

4  That  remark  might  be  made,  Daisy,  about  every 
condition  of  life  with  which  I  am  acquainted.' 

4 1  could  not  make  it  just  now,'  I  said.     He  smiled. 

4  Have  }rou  secured  a  large  circle  of  friends  among 
your  schoolmates,  — -  that  are  to  last  for  ever?' 

'  I  do  not  think  they  love  me  well  enough  for  that,' 
I  said,  wondering  somewhat  at  my  guardian's  question 
ing  rnood. 

fc  Nor  you  them  ? ' 

4 1  suppose  not.' 

4  Why  Daisy,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford,  * I  am  surprised. 
I  thought  you  used  to  love  everybody.' 

I  tried  to  think  how  that  might  be,  and  whether  I 
had  changed.  Dr.  Sandford  interrupted  my  thoughts 
again. 

4  How  is  it  with  friends  out  of  school  ? ' 

4  O  I  have  none,'  I  said  ;  thinking  only  of  girls  like 
myself. 

4  None  ? '  he  said.  '  Do  you  really  know  nobody  in 
New  York?' 

4  Nobody,  —  but  one  old  lady.' 

4  Who  is  that,  Daisy?' 

He  asked  short  and  coolly,  like  one  who  had  a  right 
to  know  ;  and  then  I  remembered  he  had  the  right.  I 
gave  him  Miss  Cardigan's  name  and  number. 

4  Who  is  she  ?  and  who  lives  with  her  ? ' 

1  Nobody  lives  with  her ;  she  has  only  her  servants.' 

*  What  do  you  know  about  her  then,  besides  what 
she  has  told  you?  Excuse  me,  and  please  have  the 
grace  to  satisfy  me.' 

4 1  know  I  must,'  I  said  half  laughing. 


296  DAISY. 

'Must?' 

'  You  know  I  must  too,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

4  I  don't  know  it  indeed,'  said  he.  4 1  know  I  must 
ask ;  but  I  do  not  know  what  power  can  force  you  to 
answer.' 

4  Isn't  it  my  duty,  Dr.  Sandford?' 

'Nobody  but  Daisy  Randolph  would  have  asked 
that  question,'  he  said.  4  Well,  if  duty  is  on  my  side,  I 
know  I  am  powerful.  But  Daisy,  you  always  used  to 
answer  me,  in  times  when  there  was  no  duty  in  the 
case.' 

4 1  remember,'  I  said,  smiling  to  think  of  it ;  4  but  I 
was  a  child  then,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

4  Oh  !  —  Well,  apropos  of  duty,  you  may  go  on  about 
Miss  Cardigan.' 

'  I  do  not  know  a  great  deal  to  tell.  Only  that  she 
is  very  good,  very  kind  to  me  and  everybody ;  very 
rich,  I  believe  ;  and  very  wise,  I  think.  I  know  noth 
ing  more  —  except  the  way  her  money  was  made/ 

'  How  was  it  ? ' 

4  I  have  heard  that  her  mother  was  a  marketwoman,' 
I  said  very  unwillingly ;  for  I  knew  the  conclusions 
that  would  be  drawn. 

4  Is  it  likely,'  Dr.  Sandford  said  slowly,  '  that  the 
daughter  of  a  marketwoman  should  be  a  good  friend  in 
every  respect  for  the  daughter  of  Mrs.  Randolph  ? ' 

4  It  may  not  be  likely'  I  answered  with  equal  slow 
ness  ;  —  '  but  it  is  true.' 

4  Can  you  prove  your  position,  Daisy?' 

4  What  is  your  objection  to  her,  Dr.  Sandford?' 

'  Simply  what  you  have  told  me.  The  different 
classes  of  society  are  better  apart.' 

I  was  silent.     If  Miss  Cardigan  was  not  of  mv  class, 


GREY  COATS.  297 

I  knew  I  wanted  to  be  of  hers.  There  were  certain 
words  running  in  my  head  about  '  a  royal  priesthood,  a 
peculiar  people,'  and  certain  other  words  too  —  which 
I  thought  it  was  no  use  to  tell  Dr.  Sandford. 

4  She  has  no  family,  you  say,  nor  friends  who  live 
with  her,  or  whom  you  meet  at  her  house  ? ' 

4  None  at  all.     I  think  she  is  quite  alone.' 

There  was  silence  again.  That  is,  between  the  doc 
tor  and  me.  Mrs.  Sandford  and  her  officers  kept  up  a 
great  run  of  talk  hard  by. 

4  Now  Daisy,'  said  the  doctor,  '  you  have  studied  the 
matter,  and  I  do  not  doubt  have  formed  a  philosophy 
of  your  own  by  this  time.  Pray  make  me  the  wiser.' 

4  I  have  no  philosophy  of  my  own,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

4  Your  own  thus  far,  that  nobody  shares  it  with  you.' 

4  Is  that  your  notion  of  me,'  I  said  laughing. 

4  A  very  good  notion.  Nothing  is  worse  than  com 
monplace  people.  Indulge  me,  Daisy.' 

So  I  thought  I  had  better. 

4  Dr.  Sandford,  —  if  you  will  indulge  me.  What  is 
your  notion  of  dignity  ?  ' 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  hair,  with  a  comical 
face.  It  was  a  very  fine  face,  as  I  knew  long  ago ; 
even  a  noble  face.  A  steady,  clear  blue  eye  like  his, 
gives  one  a  sure  impression  of  power  in  the  character, 
and  of  sweetness  too.  I  was  glad  he  had  asked  me  the 
question,  but  I  waited  for  him  to  answer  mine  first. 

1  My  notion  of  dignity ! '  he  exclaimed.  '  I  don't 
believe  I  have  any,  Daisy.' 

4  No,  but  we  are  talking  seriously.' 

4  Very.  We  always  are,  when  you  are  one  of  the 
talkers.' 

4  Then  please  explain  your  notion  of  dignity/ 


298  DAISY. 

4  T  know  it  when  I  see  it,"  said  the  doctor ;  « but  faith ! 
I  don't  know  what  makes  it.' 

4  Yes,  but  you  think  some  people,  or  some  classes, 
are  set  tip  above  others.' 

*  So  do  you.' 

'  What  do  you  think  makes  the  highest  class, 
then  ? ' 

4  You  are  going  too  deep,  or  too  high,  which  is  the 
same  thing.  All  I  mean  is,  that  certain  feet  which  fate 
has  planted  on  lofty  levels,  ought  not  to  come  down 
from  them.' 

'  But  it  is  good  to  know  where  we  stand.' 

4  Very,'  said  Dr.  Sandford  laughing.  That  is,  in  his 
way  of  laughing.  It  was  never  loud. 

4 1  will  tell  you  where  I  want  to  stand,'  I  went  on. 
4  It  is  the  highest  level  of  all.  The  Lord  Jesus  said, 
44  Whosoever  shall  do  the  will  of  my  Father  which  is  in 
heaven,  the  same  is  MY  BROTHER,  and  MY  SISTER,  and 
MOTHER."  I  want  to  be  one  of  those.' 

4  But  Daisy,'  said  Dr.  Sandford,  4  the  society  of  the 
world  is  not  arranged  on  that  principle.' 

I  knew  it  very  well.     I  said  nothing. 

4  And  you  cannot,  just  yet,  go  out  of  the  world.' 

It  was  no  use  to  tell  Dr.  Sandford  what  I  thought. 
I  was  silent  still. 

4  Daisy,'  said  he,  4  you  are  worse  than  you  used  to 
be.'  And  I  heard  a  little  concern  in  his  words,  only 
half  hid  by  the  tone. 

4  You  do  not  suppose  that  such  words  as  those  you 
quoted  just  now,  were  meant  to  be  a  practical  guide  in 
the  daily  aifairs  of  life  ?  Do  you  ? ' 

4  How  can  I  help  it,  Dr.  Sandford?'  I  answered.     41 


GREY   COATS.  299 

would  like  to  have  my  friends  among  those  whom  the 
King  will  call  his  sisters  and  brothers/ 

'  And  what  do  you  think  of  correct  grammar,  and 
clean  hands  ? '  he  asked. 

4  Clean  hands  ! '  I  echoed. 

4  You  like  them,'  he  said  smiling.  *  The  people  you 
mean  often  go  without  them  —  if  report  says  true/ 

4  Not  the  people  /  mean,'  I  said. 

4  And  education,  Daisy  ;  and  refined  manners  ;  and 
cultivated  tastes  ;  what  will  you  do  without  all  these  ? 
In  the  society  you  speak  of  they  are  seldom  found/ 

4  You  do  not  know  the  society  I  speak  of,  Dr.  Sand- 
ford  ;  and  Miss  Cardigan  has  all  these,  more  or  less ; 
besides  something  a  great  deal  better/ 

Dr.  Sandford  rose  up  suddenly  and  introduced  me  to 
a  Captain  Southgate  who  came  up  ;  and  the  conversa 
tion  ran  upon  West  Point  things  and  nothings  after 
that.  I  was  going  back  over  my  memory,  to  find  in  how 
far  religion  had  been  associated  with  some  other  valued 
things  in  the  instances  of  my  experience,  and  I  heard 
little  of  what  was  said.  Mr.  Dinwiddie  had  been  a 
gentleman,  as  much  as  any  one  I  ever  knew ;  he  was 
the  first.  My  old  Juanita  had  the  manners  of  a 
princess,  and  the  tact  of  a  fine  lady.  Miss  Cardigan 
M-as  a  capital  compound  of  sense,  goodness,  business 
energies,  and  gentle  wisdom.  The  others,  —  well,  yes, 
they  were  of  the  despised  orders  of  the  world.  My 
friend  Darry,  at  the  stables  of  Magnolia,  —  my  friend 
Maria,  in  the  kitchen  of  the  great  house,  —  the  other 
s.able  and  sober  faces  that  came  around  theirs  in 
memory's  grouping,  —  they  were  not  educated  nor 
polished  nor  elegant.  Yet  well  I  knew,  that  having 
owned  Christ  before  men,  he  would  own  them  before 


300  DAISY. 

the  angels  of  heaven  ;  and  what  would  they  be  in  that 
day  !  I  was  satisfied  to  be  numbered  with  them. 

I  slept,  as  Dr.  Sandford  had  prophesied  I  would, 
that  night.  I  awoke  to  a  vision  of  beauty. 

My  remembrance  of  those  days  that  followed  is  like 
a  summer  morning,  with  a  diamond  hanging  to  every 
blade  of  grass. 

1  awoke  suddenly,  that  first  day,  and  rushed  to  the 
window.  The  light  had  broken,  the  sun  was  up  ;  the 
crown  of  the  morning  was  upon  the  heads  of  the  hills  ; 
here  and  there  a  light  wreath  of  mist  lay  along  their 
sides,  floating  slowly  off,  or  softly  dispersing;  the 
river  lay  in  quiet  beauty  waiting  for  the  gilding  that 
should  come  upon  it.  I  listened  —  the  brisk  notes  of 
a  drum  and  fife  came  to  my  ear,  playing  one  after 
another  joyous  and  dancing  melody.  I  thought  that 
never  was  a  place  so  utterly  delightsome  as  this  place. 
With  all  speed  I  dressed  myself,  noiselessly,  so  as  not 
to  waken  Mrs.  Sandford ;  and  then  I  resolved  I  would 
go  out  and  see  if  I  could  not  find  a  place  where  I  could 
be  by  myself;  for  in  the  house  there  was  no  chance  of 
it.  I  took  Mr.  Dinwiddie's  Bible  and  stole  down 
stairs.  From  the  piazza  where  we  had  sat  last  night, 
a  flight  of  steps  led  down.  I  followed  it,  and  found 
another  flight,  and  still  another.  The  last  landed  me 
in  a  gravelled  path ;  one  track  went  down  the  steep 
face  of  the  bank,  on  the  brow  of  which  the  hotel  stood  ; 
another  track  crossed  that  and  wound  away  to  my 
right,  with  a  gentle  downward  slope.  I  went  this  way. 
The  air  was  delicious ;  the  woods  were  musical  with 
birds  ;  the  morning  light  filled  my  pathway  and  glanc 
ing  from  trees  or  rocks  ahead  of  me,  lured  me  on  with  a 
promise  of  glory.  1  seemed  to  gather  the  promise  as  I 


ORET  COATS.  301 

went,  and  still  I  was  drawn  further  and  further. 
Glimpses  of  the  river  began  to  shew  through  the 
trees ;  for  all  this  bank  side  was  thickly  wooded.  I 
left  walking  and  took  to  running.  At  last  I  came  out 
upon  another  gravelled  walk,  low  down  on  the  hill 
side,  lying  parallel  with  the  river  and  open  to  it. 
Nothing  lay  between  but  some  masses  of  granite  rock, 
grey  and  lichened,  and  a  soft  fringe  of  green  under 
brush  and  small  wood  in  the  intervals.  Moreover,  I 
presently  found  a  comfortable  seat  on  a  huge  grey 
stone,  where  the  view  was  uninterrupted  by  any  wood 
growth  ;  and  if  I  thought  before  that  this  was  fairyland, 
I  now  almost  thought  myself  a  fairy.  The  broad  river 
was  at  my  feet ;  the  morning  light  was  on  all  the  shores, 
sparkled  from  the  granite  rocks  below  me  and  flashed 
from  the  polished  leaves,  and  glittered  on  the  water ; 
filling  all  the  blue  above  with  radiance  ;  touching  here 
and  there  a  little  downy  cloud  ;  entering  in  and  lying 
on  my  heart.  I  shall  never  forget  it.  The  taste  of  the 
air  was  as  one  tastes  life  and  strength  and  vigour.  It 
all  rolled  in  on  me  a  great  burden  of  joy. 

It  was  not  the  worst  time  or  place  in  the  world  to 
read  the  Bible.  But  how  all  the  voices  of  nature 
seemed  to  flow  in  and  mix  with  the  reading,  I  cannot 
tell,  no  more  than  I  can  number  them  ;  the  whirr  of  a 
bird's  wing,  the  liquid  note  of  a  wood  thrush,  the  stir 
and  movement  of  a  thousand  leaves,  the  gurgle  of 
rippling  water,  the  crow's  call,  and  the  song  sparrow's 
ecstasy.  Once  or  twice  the  notes  of  a  bugle  found 
their  way  down  the  hill,  and  reminded  me  that  I  was 
in  a  place  of  delightful  novelty.  It  was  just  a  fillip 
to  my  enjoyment,  as  I  looked  on  and  off  my  page  alter 
nately. 

2G 


302  DAISY. 

By  and  by  I  heard  footsteps,  quick  yet  light  foot« 
steps,  sounding  on  the  gravel.  Measured  and  quick 
they  came ;  then  two  figures  rounded  a  point  close 
by  me.  There  were  two,  but  their  footfalls  had 
sounded  as  one.  They  were  dressed  alike,  all  in  grey, 
like  my  friend  in  the  omnibus.  As  they  passed  me, 
the  nearest  one  hastily  pulled  off  his  cap,  and  I  caught 
just  a  flash  from  a  bright  eye.  It  was  the  same.  I 
looked  after  them  as  they  left  my  point  and  were  soon 
lost  behind  another ;  thinking  that  probably  Preston 
was  dressed  so  and  had  been  taught  to  walk  so ;  and 
with  renewed  admiration  of  a  place  where  the  inhabi 
tants  kept  such  an  exquisite  neatness  in  their  dress 
and  moved  like  music.  There  was  a  fulness  of  con 
tent  in  my  mind,  as  at  length  I  slowly  went  back  up 
my  winding  path  to  the  hotel,  warned  by  the  furious 
sounds  of  a  gong  that  breakfast  was  in  preparation. 

As  I  toiled  up  the  last  flight  of  steps  I  saw  Dr. 
Sand  ford  on  the  piazza.  His  blue  eye  looked  me  all 
over  and  looked  me  through,  I  felt.  I  was  accus 
tomed  to  that,  both  from  the  friend  and  the  plrysician, 
and  rather  liked  it. 

4  What  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  house?'  I  asked. 

'  Let  us  go  and  see.'  And  as  we  went,  the  doctor 
took  my  book  from  my  hand  to  carry  it  for  me.  He 
opened  it  too  and  looked  at  it.  On  the  other  side  or 
two  sides  of  the  house  stretched  away  the  level  greer 
plain.  At  the  back  of  it,  stood  houses  half  hidden  by 
trees ;  indeed  all  round  two  sides  of  the  plain  there 
was  a  border  of  buildings  and  of  flourishing  trees  as 
well.  Down  the  north  side,  from  the  hotel  where  we 
were,  a  road  went  winding ;  likewise  under  arching 
trees ;  here  and  there  I  could  .see  cannon  and  a  bit  of 


GREY  COATS.  303 

some  military  work.  All  the  centre  of  the  plain  was 
level  and  green,  and  empty  ;  and  from  the  hotel  to  the 
library  stretched  a  broad  strip  of  bare  ground,  brown 
and  dusty,  alongside  of  the  road  by  which  we  had 
come  across  last  night.  In  the  morning  sun,  as  in 
deed  under  all  other  lights  and  at  all  other  hours,  this 
scene  was  one  of  satisfying  beauty.  Behind  the  row 
of  houses  at  the  western  edge  of  the  plain,  the  hills 
rose  up,  green  and  wooded,  height  above  height ;  and 
an  old  fortification  stood  out  now  under  the  eastern 
illumination,  picturesque  and  grey,  high  up  among 
them.  As  Dr.  Sandford  and  I  were  silent  and  look 
ing,  I  saw  another  grey  figure  pass  down  the  road. 

4  Who  are  those  people  that  wear  grey,  with  a 
black  stripe  down  the  leg?  '  I  asked. 

4  Grey  ?  '  said  the  doctor.  *  Where  ? ' 

4  There  is  one  yonder  under  the  trees/  I  said,  '  and 
there  was  one  in  the  omnibus  yesterday.  .Are  those 
the  cadets  ? ' 

4 1  suppose  so.' 

4  Then  Preston  wears  that  dress.  I  wonder  how  I 
shall  find  him,  Dr.  Sandford?' 

4  Find  whom  ? '  said  the  doctor  waking  up. 

4  My  cousin  Preston  —  Preston  Gary.     He  is  here/ 

4  Here  ? '  repeated  the  doctor. 

4  Yes  —  he  is  a  cadet  —  didn't  you  know  it  ?  He  has 
been  here  a  long  while ;  he  has  only  one  more  year, 
I  believe.  How  can  we  find  him,  Dr.  Sandford?' 

4 1  am  ignorant,  Daisy.' 

4  But  we  must  find  him,'  I  said,  4  for  of  course  he 
will  want  to  see  me,  and  I  want  to  see  him,  very  much.' 

The  doctor  was  silent,  and  I  remember  an  odd  sense 
I  had  that  he  was  not  pleased.  I  cannot  tell  how  I 


304  DAISY. 

got  it ;  he  neither  did  nor  said  anything  to  make  me 
think  so  ;  he  did  not  even  look  anywise  different  from 
usual ;  yet  I  felt  it  and  was  sure  of  it,  and  unspeakably 
mystified  at  it.  Could  Preston  have  been  doing  any 
thing  wrong?  Yet  the  doctor  would  not  know  that, 
for  he  was  not  even  aware  that  Preston  was  in  the 
Military  Academy  till  I  told  him. 

'  I  do  not  know,  Daisy,'  he  said  at  last ;  '  but  we  can 
find  out.  I  will  ask  Capt.  Southgate  or  somebody 
else.' 

'  Thank  you,'  I  said.  '  Who  are  those,  Dr.  Sand- 
ford,  those  others  dressed  in  dark  frock  coats,  with 
bright  bars  over  their  shoulders? —  like  that  one  just 
now  going  out  of  the  gate  ? ' 

1  Those  are  officers  of  the  army.' 

4  There  are  a  good  many  of  them.  What  are  they 
here  for  ?  Are  there  many  soldiers  here  ? ' 

'No — 'tsaid  the  doctor — 4I  believe  not.  I  think 
these  gentlemen  are  put  here  to  look  after  the  grey 
coats  —  the  cadets,  Daisy.  The  cadets  are  here  in 
training,  you  know.' 

4  But  that  officer  who  just  went  out  —  who  is  walking 
over  the  plain  now  —  he  wore  a  sword,  Dr.  Sandford  ; 
and  a  red  sash.  They  do  not  all  wear  them.  What 
is  that  for?' 

'What  is  under  discussion?'  said  Mrs.  Sandford 
coming  out.  '  How  well  Daisy  looks  this  morning, 
don't  she?' 

'  She  has  caught  the  military  fever  already,'  said 
the  doctor.  '  I  brought  her  here  for  a  sedative  ;  but  I 
find  it  is  no  such  matter.' 

'  Sedative  ! '  —  said  Mrs.  Sandford  ;  but  at  this 
instant  my  ears  were  '  caught '  by  a  burst  of  music  on 


GEET  COATS.  305 

fche  plain.  Mrs.  Sandford  broke  into  a  fit  of  laughter. 
The  doctor's  hand  touched  my  shoulder. 

4  Get  your  hat,  Daisy/  he  said.  4 1  will  go  with  you 
to  hear  it.' 

I  might  tell  of  pleasure  from  minute  to  minute  of 
that  day,  and  of  the  days  following.  The  breath  of 
the  air,  the  notes  of  the  wind  instruments,  the  flicker 
of  sunlight  on  the  gravel,  all  come  back  to  me  as  I 
write,  and  I  taste  them  again.  Dr.  Sandford  and  I 
went  down  the  road  I  have  described,  leading  along  the 
edge  of  the  plain  at  its  northern  border ;  from  which 
the  view  up  over  the  river,  between  the  hills,  was 
very  glorious.  Fine  young  trees  shaded  this  road  ;  on 
one  side  a  deep  hollow  or  cup  in  the  green  plain  ex 
cited  my  curiosity  ;  on  the  other,  lying  a  little  down  the 
bank,  a  military  work  of  some  odd  sort  planted  with 
guns.  Then  one  or  two  little  pyramidal  heaps  of  can 
non-balls  by  the  side  of  the  road,  marked  this  out  as 
unlike  all  other  roads  I  had  ever  traversed.  At  the 
further  side  of  the  plain  we  came  to  the  row  of  houses 
I  had  seen  from  a  distance,  which  ran  north  and  south, 
looking  eastward  over  all  the  plain.  The  road  which 
skirted  these  houses  was  shaded  with  large  old  trees  ; 
and  on  the  edge  of  the  greensward  under  the  trees,  we 
found  a  number  of  iron  seats  placed  for  the  conven 
ience  of  spectators.  And  here,  among  many  others, 
Dr.  Sandford  and  I  sat  down. 

There  was  a  long  line  of  the  grey  uniforms  now 
drawn  up  in  front  of  us ;  at  some  little  distance ; 
standing  still  and  doing  nothing,  that  I  could  see. 
Nearer  to  us  and  facing  them  stood  a  single  grey  fig- 
are  ;  I  looked  hard,  but  could  not  make  out  that  it  was 
Preston.  Nearer  still,  stood  with  arms  folded  one  of 


306  DAISY. 

those  who  the  doctor  had  said  were  army  officers ;  I 
thought,  the  very  one  I  had  seen  leave  the  hotel ;  but 
all  Hue  statues,  motionless  and  fixed.  Only  the  band 
seemed  to  have  some  life  in  them. 

'What  is  it,  Dr.  Sandford?'  I  whispered,  after  a 
few  minutes  of  intense  enjoyment. 

4  Don't  know,  Daisy.' 

1  But  what  are  they  doing  ? ' 

'  I  don't  know,  Daisy/ 

I  nestled  down  into  silence  again,  listening,  almost 
with  a  doubt  of  my  own  senses,  as  the  notes  of  the 
instruments  mingled  with  the  summer  breeze  and 
filled  the  June  sunshine.  The  plain  looked  most 
beautiful,  edged  with  trees  on  three  sides,  and 
bounded  to  the  east,  in  front  of  me,  by  a  chain  of  hills 
soft  and  wooded,  which  I  afterwards  found  were  be 
yond  the  river.  Near  at  hand,  the  order  of  military 
array,  the  flash  of  a  sword,  the  glitter  of  an  epaulette, 
the  glance  of  red  sashes  here  and  there,  the  regularity 
of  a  perfect  machine.  I  said  nothing  more  to  Dr. 
Sandford  ;  but  I  gathered  drop  by  drop  the  sweetness 
of  the  time. 

The  statues  broke  into  life  a  few  minutes  later,  and 
there  was  a  stir  of  business  of  some  sort ;  but  I  could 
make  out  nothing  of  what  they  were  doing.  I  took  it 
on  trust,  and  enjo3red  everything  to  the  full  till  the 
show  was  over. 


YANKEES.  307 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

YANKEES. 

FOR  several  days  I  saw  nothing  of  Preston.  He  was 
hardly  missed. 

I  found  that  such  a  parade  as  that  which  pleased 
me  the  first  morning,  came  off  twice  daily ;  and  other 
military  displays,  more  extended  and  more  interesting, 
were  to  be  looked  for  every  day  at  irregular  times.  I 
failed  not  of  one.  So  surely  as  the  roll  of  the  drum  or 
a  strain  of  music  announced  that  something  of  the  sort 
was  on  hand,  I  caught  up  my  hat  and  was  ready. 
And  so  was  Dr.  Sandford.  Mrs.  Sandford  would  of 
ten  not  go  ;  but  the  doctor's  hat  was  as  easily  put  on 
as  mine,  and  as  readily ;  and  he  attended  me,  I  used 
to  think,  as  patiently  as  a  great  Newfoundland  dog. 
As  patient,  and  as  supreme.  The  evolutions  of  soldiers 
and  clangour  of  martial  music  were  nothing  to  Mm; 
but  he  must  wait  upon  his  little  mistress.  I  mean  of 
course  the  Newfoundland  dog ;  not  Dr.  Sandford. 

4  Will  you  go  for  a  walk,  Daisy  ? '  he  said  the  morn 
ing  of  the  third  or  fourth  day.  '  There  is  nothing  do 
ing  on  the  plain,  I  find.' 

•  A  walk  ?   O  yes  ! '    I  said.     '  Where  shall  we  go  ? ' 

4  To  look  for  wonderful  things,'  he  said. 

4  Only  don't  take  the  child  among  the  rattlesnakes,' 
said  Mrs.  Sandford.  '  They  are  wonderful,  I  sup- 


308  DAISY. 

pose,  but  not  pleasant.  You  will  get  her  all  tanned, 
Grant ! ' 

But  I  took  these  hints  of  danger  as  coolly  as  the 
doctor  himself  did ;  and  another  of  my  West-Point 
delights  began. 

We  went  beyond  the  limits  of  the  post,  passed  out 
at  one  of  the  gates  which  shut  it  in  from  the  common 
world,  and  forgot  for  the  moment  drums  and  fifes. 
Up  the  mountain  side,  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees 
most  of  the  time,  though  along  a  good  road  ;  with  the 
wild  hill  at  one  hand  rising  sharp  above  us.  Turning 
round  that,  we  finally  plunged  clown  into  a  grand  dell 
of  the  hills,  leaving  all  roads  behind  and  all  civiliza 
tion,  and  having  a  whole  mountain  between  us  and  the 
West-Point  plain.  I  suppose  it  might  have  been  a  re 
gion  for  rattlesnakes,  but  I  never  thought  of  them. 
I  had  never  seen  such  a  place  in  my  life.  From  the 
bottom  of  the  gorge  where  we  were,  the  opposite 
mountain  side  sloped  up  to  a  great  height ;  wild, 
lonely,  green  with  a  wealth  of  wood,  stupendous,  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  in  its  towering  expanse.  At  our  backs, 
a  rocky  and  green  precipice  rose  up  more  steeply  yet, 
though  to  a  lesser  elevation,  topped  with  the  grey 
walls  of  the  old  fort  the  other  face  of  which  I  had  seen 
from  our  hotel.  A  wilderness  of  nature  it  was  ;  wild 
and  stern.  I  feasted  on  it.  Dr.  Sandford  was  moving 
about,  looking  for  something ;  he  helped  me  over  rocks 
and  jumped  me  across  morasses  and  kept  watchful 
guard  of  me ;  but  else  he  let  me  alone ;  he  did  not 
talk  ;  and  I  had  quite  enough  without.  The  strong 
delight  of  the  novelty,  the  freedom,  the  delicious  wild 
things  around,  the  bracing  air,  the  wonderful  lofty 


YANKEES.  309 

beauty,  made  me  as  happy  as  I  thought  I  could  be.  I 
feasted  on  the  rocks  and  wild  verdure,  the  mosses  and 
ferns  and  lichen,  the  scrub  forest  and  tangled  under 
growth,  among  which  we  plunged  and  scrambled  ;  above 
all,  on  those  vast  leafy  walls  which  shut  in  the  glen, 
and  almost  took  away  my  breath  with  their  towering 
lonely  grandeur.  All  this  time  Dr.  Sandford  was  as 
busy  as  a  bee,  in  quest  of  something.  He  was  a  great 
geologist  and  mineralogist ;  a  lover  of  all  natural 
science,  but  particularly  of  chemistry  and  geology. 
When  I  stopped  to  look  at  him,  I  thought  he  must 
have  put  his  own  tastes  in  his  pocket  for  several  days 
past,  that  he  might  gratify  mine.  I  was  standing  on 
a  rock,  high  and  dry  and  grey  with  lichen ;  he  was 
poking  about  in  some  swampy  ground. 

4  Are  you  tired,  Daisy?  '  he  said  looking  up. 

'  My  feet  are  tired/  I  said.  • 

4  That  is  all  of  you  that  can  be  tired.  Sit  down 
where  you  are  —  I  will  come  to  you  directly.' 

So  I  sat  down,  and  watched  him,  and  looked  off  be 
tween  whiles  to  the  wonderful  green  walls  of  the  glen. 
The  summer  blue  was  very  clear  overhead ;  the  still 
ness  of  the  place  very  deep  ;  insects,  birds,  a  flutter  of 
leaves,  and  the  grating  of  Dr.  Sandford's  boot  upon 
a  stone,  all  the  sound  that  could  be  heard. 

4  Why  you  are  warm,  as  well  as  tired,  Daisy/  he 
said  coming  up  to  my  rock  at  last. 

*  It  is  warm/  I  answered. 

*  Warm  ? '  said  he.     «  Look  here,  Daisy ! ' 

4  Well,  what  in  the  world  is  that?'  I  said  laughing. 
1  A  little  rnud  or  earth  is  all  that  I  can  see/ 

*  Ah,  your  eyes  are  not  good  for  much,  Daisy  —  ex 
cept  to  look  at.' 


310  DAISY. 

1  Not  good  for  much  for  that*  I  said,  amused ;  for  his 
eyes  were  bent  upon  the  earth  in  his  hand. 

*  I  don't  know '  —  said  he,  getting  up  on  the  rock 
beside  me  and  sitting  down.     c  I  used  to  find  strange 
things  in  them  once.     But  this  is  something  you  will 
like,  Daisy.' 
'Is  it?' 

'  If  you  like  wonderful  things  as  well  as  ever.' 
'  O  I  do  ! '  I  said.  '  What  is  it,  Dr.  Sandford  ? ' 
He  carefully  wrapped  up  his  treasure  in  a  bit  of 
paper  and  put  it  in  his  pocket ;  then  he  cut  down  a 
small  hickory  branch  and  began  to  fan  me  with  it ;  s>nd 
while  he  sat  there  fanning  me  he  entered  upon  a  lecture 
such  as  I  had  never  listened  to  in  my  life.  I  had  stud 
ied  a  little  geology  of  course,  as  well  as  a  little  of 
everything  else ;  but  no  lesson  like  this  had  come  in 
the  course  of  my  experience.  Taking  his  text  from  the 
very  wild  glen  where  we  were  sitting  and  the  mountain 
sides  upon  which  I  had  been  gazing,  Dr.  Sandford 
spread  a  clear  page  of  nature  before  me  and  interpreted 
it.  He  answered  unspoken  questions  ;  he  filled  great 
vacancies  of  my  ignorance  ;  into  what  had  been  abysms 
of  thought  he  poured  a  whole  treasury  of  intelligence 
and  brought  floods  of  light.  All  so  quietly,  so  lumi 
nously,  with  such  a  wealth  of  knowledge  and  facility  of 
giving  it,  that  it  is  a  simple  thing  to  say  no  story  of 
Eastern  magic  was  ever  given  into  more  charmed  ears 
around  an  Arabian  desert  fire.  I  listened,  and  he 
talked  and  fanned  me.  He  talked  like  one  occupied 
with  his  subject  and  not  with  me ;  but  he  met  every 
half  uttered  doubt  or  question,  and  before  he  had  done 
he  satisfied  it  fully.  I  had  always  liked  Dr.  Sandford  ; 
I  had  never  liked  him  so  much.  I  had  never,  since  the 


YANKEES.  311 

old  childish  times,  had  such  a  free  talk  with  him.  And 
now,  he  did  not  talk  to  me  as  a  child  or  a  very  young 
girl,  except  in  bending  himself  to  my  ignorance ;  but 
as  one  who  loves  knowledge  likes  to  give  it  to  others, 
so  he  gave  it  to  me.  Only  I  do  not  remember  seeing 
him  like  to  give  it  in  such  manner  to  anybody  else. 
I  think  the  novelty  added  to  the  zest  when  I  thought 
about  it ;  at  the  moment  I  had  no  time  for  side 
thoughts.  At  the  moment  my  ears  could  but  receive 
the  pearls  and  diamonds  of  knowledge  which  came 
from  the  speaker's  lips,  set  in  silver  of  the  simplest  clear 
English.  I  notice  that  the  people  who  have  the  most 
thorough  grasp  of  a  subject  make  ever  least  difficulty 
of  words  about  it. 

The  sun  was  high  and  hot  when  we  returned,  but  I 
cared  nothing  for  that.  I  was  more  than  ever  sure 
that  West  Point  was  fairyland.  The  old  spring  of 
childish  glee  seemed  to  have  come  back  to  my 
nerves. 

4  Dinner  is  just  ready,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford,  meeting 
us  in  the  hall.  'Why  where  have  you  been?  And 
look  at  the  colour  of  Daisy's  face !  O  Grant,  what 
have  you  done  with  her?' 

4  Very  good  colour  — '  said  the  doctor,  peering  under 
my  hat. 

'  She's  all  flushed  and  sunburnt,  and  overheated.' 

4  Daisy  is  never  anything  but  cool ; '  he  said,  ;  unless 
when  she  gets  hold  of  a  principle,  and  somebody  else 
gets  hold  of  the  other  end.  We'll  look  at  these  things 
after  dinner,  Daisy.' 

'  Principles?  '  half  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sandford,  with  so 
dismayed  an  expression  that  the  doctor  and  I  both 
laughed. 


SI  2  DAIS  7. 

4  Not  exactly,'  said  the  doctor  putting  his  hand  in 
his  pocket.  4  Look  here.' 

*  I  see  nothing  but  a  little  dirt/ 

4  You  shall  see  something  else  by  and  by —  if  you 
will/ 

4  You  have  never  brought  your  microscope  here, 
Grant  ?  Where  in  the  world  will  you  set  it  up  ? ' 

4  In  your  room —  after  dinner —  if  you  permit.' 

Mrs.  Sandford  permitted ;  and  though  she  did  not 
care  much  about  the  investigations  that  followed,  the 
doctor  and  I  did.  As  delightful  as  the  morning  had 
been,  the  long  afternoon  stretched  its  bright  hours 
along  ;  till  Mrs.  Sandford  insisted  I  must  be  dressed, 
and  pushed  the  microscope  into  a  corner  and  ordered 
the  doctor  away. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  the  pleasantest  course  of 
lessons  I  ever  had  in  my  life.  From  that  time  Dr. 
Sandford  and  I  spent  a  large  part  of  every  day  in  the 
hills  ;  and  often  another  large  part  over  the  microscope. 
No  palace  and  gardens  in  the  Arabian  nights  were  ever 
more  enchanting,  than  the  glories  of  nature  through 
which  he  led  me ;  nor  half  so  wonderful.  *  A  little 
dirt,'  as  it  seemed  to  ordinary  eyes,  was  the  hidden 
entrance  way  ofttimes  to  halls  of  knowledge  more 
magnificent  and  more  rich  than  my  fancy  had  ever 
dreamed  of. 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Sandford  found  a  great  many 
officers  to  talk  to. 

It  was  not  till  the  evening  of  the  next  day  following 
my  first  walk  into  the  mountains,  that  I  saw  Preston. 
It  was  parade  time  ;  and  I  was  sitting  as  usual  on  one 
of  the  iron  settees  which  are  placed  for  the  convenience 
of  spectators.  I  was  almost  alwaj^s  there  at  parade 


YANKEES.  313 

and  guardmounting.  The  picture  had  a  continual  fas 
cination  for  me,  whether  under  the  morning  sun,  or  the 
evening  sunset ;  and  the  music  was  charming.  This 
time  I  was  alone,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sandford  being  engaged 
in  conversation  with  friends  at  a  little  distance.  Fol 
lowing  with  my  ear  the  variations  of  the  air  the  band 
were  playing,  my  mind  was  at  the  same  time  dwelling 
on  the  riches  it  had  just  gained  in  the  natural  history 
researches  of  the  day,  and  also  taking  in  half  con 
sciously  the  colours  of  the  hills  and  the  light  that 
spread  over  the  plain ;  musing,  in  short,  in  a  kind  of 
dream  of  delight ;  when  a  grey  figure  came  between  me 
and  my  picture.  Finding  that  it  did  not  move,  I 
raised  my  eyes. 

4  The  same  Daisy  as  ever ! '  said  Preston,  his  eyes 
all  alight  with  fun  and  pleasure.  4  The  same  as  ever ! 
And  how  came  you  here?  and  when  did  you  come? 
and  how  did  you  come  ? ' 

*  We  have  been  here  ever  since  Friday.  Why 
haven't  you  been  to  see  me  ?  Dr.  Sandford  sent  word 
to  you.' 

4  Dr.  Sandford ! '  said  Preston,  taking  the  place  by 
my  side.  *  How  did  you  come  here,  Daisy?' 

4 1  came  by  the  boat,  last  Friday.  How  should  I 
come  ? ' 

4  Who  are  you  with  ? ' 

4  Dr.  Sandford  — and  Mrs.  Sandford.' 

4  Mrs.  Sandford,  and  Dr.  Sandford,'  said  Preston 
pointedly.  4You  are  not  with  the  doctor,  I  sup 
pose.' 

'  Why  yes  I  am,'  I  answered.  4  He  is  my  guardian 
—  don't  you  know,  Preston?  He  brought  me.  How 
tall  you  have  grown  ! ' 

27 


314  DAISY. 

4  A  parcel  of  Yankees,'  said  Preston.  '  Poor  little 
Daisy.' 

4  What  do  you  mean  by  "  Yankees  "  ?  '  I  said.  *  You 
do  not  mean  just  people  at  the  North,  for  you  speak 
as  if  it  was  something  bad/ 

4  It  is.  So  I  do,'  said  Preston.  '  They  are  a  mean 
set  —  fit  for  nothing  but  to  eat  codfish  and  scrape.  I 
wish  you  had  nothing  to  do  with  Yankees.' 

I  thought  how  all  the  South  lived  upon  stolen  earn 
ings.  It  was  a  disagreeable  turn  to  my  meditations 
for  a  moment. 

4  Where  have  you  hid  yourself  since  you  have  come 
here?'  Preston  went  on.  4I  have  been  to  the  hotel 
time  and  again  to  find  you.' 

4 Have  you!'  I  said.  'O  I  suppose  I  was  out 
walking.' 

4  With  whom  were  you  walking?' 

4 1  don't  know  anybody  here,  but  those  I  came  with. 
But  Preston,  why  are  you  not  over  yonder  with  the 
others  ? ' 

I  was  looking  at  the  long  grey  line  formed  in  front 
of  us  on  the  plain. 

4 1  got  leave  of  absence,  to  come  and  see  you,  Daisy. 
And  you  have  grown,  and  improved.  You're  wonder 
fully  improved.  Are  you  the  very  same  Daisy  ?  and 
what  are  you  going  to  do  here  ? ' 

4  O  I'm  enjoying  myself.  Now  Preston,  why  does 
that  man  stand  so?' 

4  What  man?' 

4  That  officer  —  here  in  front,  standing  all  alone, 
with  the  sash  and  sword.  Why  does  he  stand  so  ? ' 

4  Hush.  That  is  Captain  Percival.  He  is  the  officer 
in  charge.' 


YANKEES.  315 

k  What  is  that?' 

'  O  he  looks  after  the  parade,  and  things.' 

'But  why  does  he  stand  so,  Preston?' 

4  Stand  how  ? '  said  Preston  unsympathizingly. 
4  That  is  good  standing.' 

4  Why,  with  his  shoulders  up  to  his  ears/  I  said ; 
*  and  his  arms  lifted  up  as  if  he  was  trying  to  put  his 
elbows  upon  a  high  shelf.  It  is  very  awkward.' 

*  They  all  stand  so,'  said  Preston.  4  That's  right 
enough.' 

4  It  is  ungraceful.' 

4  It  is  military.' 

4  Must  one  be  ungraceful  in  order  to  be  military?' 

4  He  isn't  ungraceful.  That  is  Percival  —  of  South 
Carolina.' 

4  The  officer  yesterday  stood  a  great  deal  better/  I 
went  on. 

4  Yesterday  ?    That  was  Blunt.     He's  a  Yankee.' 

4  Well,  what  then,  Preston?'  I  said  laughing. . 

4 1  despise  them  1 ' 

4  Aren't  there  Yankees  among  the  cadets  ? ' 

4  Of  course  ;  but  they  are  no  count — only  here  and 
there  there's  one  of  good  family.  Don't  you  have 
anything  to  do  with  them,  Daisy !  —  mind ;  —  not  with 
one  of  them,  unless  I  tell  you  who  he  is.' 

4  With  one  of  whom  ?  what  are  you  speaking  of  ? ' 

4  The  cadets.' 

4  Why  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  them/  I  said. 
'How  should  I?' 

Preston  looked  at  me  curiously. 

4  Nor  at  the  hotel,  neither,  Daisy— -  more  than  you 
can  help.  Have  nothing  to  say  to  the  Yankees.' 


316  DAISY. 

I  thought  Preston  had  taken  a  strange  fancy.  I  was 
silent. 

4  It  is  not  fitting/  he  went  on.  *  We  are  going  to 
change  all  that.  I  want  to  have  nothing  to  do  with 
Yankees.' 

4  What  are  you  going  to  change  ? '  I  asked.  '  I  don't 
see  how  you  can  help  having  to  do  with  them.  They 
are  among  the  cadets,  and  they  are  among  the  officers/ 

'We  have  our  own  set/  said  Preston.  'I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  them  in  the  corps.' 

4  Now  Preston,  look;  what  are  they  about?  All 
the  red  sashes  are  getting  together.' 

1  Parade  is  dismissed.  They  are  coming  up  to  salute 
the  officer  in  charge.' 

4  It  is  so  pretty ! '  I  said,  as  the  music  burst  out 
again,  and  the  measured  steps  of  the  advancing  line 
of  4  red  sashes  '  marked  it.  4  And  now  Captain  Per- 
cival  will  unbend  his  stiff  elbows.  Why  could  not  all 
that  be  done  easily,  Preston?' 

4  Nonsense,  Daisy !  —  it  is  military.' 

*Is  it?  But  Mr.  Blunt  did  it  a  great  deal  better. 
Now  they  are  going  —  Must  you  go  ? ' 

4  Yes.     What  are  you  going  to  do  to-morrow  ? ' 

4 1  don't  know  —  I  suppose,  we  shall  go  into  the 
woods  again.' 

4  When  the  examination  is  over,  I  can  attend  to  you. 
I  haven't  much  time  just  now.  But  there  is  really 
nothing  to  be  done  here,  since  one  can't  get  on  horse 
back  out  of  the  hours.' 

4 1  don't  want  anything  better  than  I  can  get  on  my 
own  feet,'  I  said  joyously.  4 1  find  plenty  to  do.' 

4  Look  here,  Daisj^ ,'  said  Preston  — 4  don't  you  turn 
into  a  masculine,  muscular  woman,  that  can  walk  her 


YANKEES.  317 

twenty  miles  and  wear  hob-nailed  shoes  —  like  the 
Yankees  you  are  among.  Don' t  forget  that  you  are 
the  daughter  of  a  Southern  gentleman  — ' 

lie  touched  his  cap  hastily  and  turned  away  —  walk 
ing  with  those  measured  steps  towards  the  barracks  ; 
whither  now  all  the  companies  of  grey  figures  were  in 
full  retreat.  I  stood  wondering,  and  then  slowly  re 
turned  with  my  friends  to  the  hotel ;  much  puzzled 
to  account  for  Preston's  discomposure  and  strange 
injunctions.  The  sunlight  had  left  the  tops  of  the 
hills ;  the  river  slept  in  the  gathering  grey  shadows, 
soft,  tranquil,  reposeful.  Before  I  got  to  the  hotel, 
I  had  quite  made  up  my  mind  that  my  cousin's  eccen 
tricities  were  of  no  consequence. 

They  recurred  to  me,  however,  and  were  as  puzzling 
as  ever.  I  had  no  key  at  the  time. 

The  next  afternoon  was  given  to  a  very  lively  show : 
the  light  artillery  drill  before  the  board  of  Visitors. 
We  sat  out  under  the  trees  to  behold  it ;  and  I  found 
out  now  the  meaning  of  the  broad  strip  of  plain  be 
tween  the  hotel  and  the  library,  which  was  brown  and 
dusty  in  the  midst  of  the  universal  green.  Over  this 
strip,  round  and  round,  back  and  forth  and  across,  the 
light  artillery  wagons  rushed,  as  if  to  shew  what  they 
could  do  in  time  of  need.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight, 
exciting  and  stirring ;  with  the  beat  of  horses'  hoofs, 
the  clatter  of  harness,  the  rumble  of  wheels  tearing 
along  over  the  ground,  the  flash  of  a  sabre  now  and 
then,  the  ringing  words  of  command,  and  the  soft 
shrill  echoing  bugle  which  repeated  them.  I  only 
wanted  to  understand  it  all ;  and  in  the  evening  I  plied 
Preston  with  questions.  He  explained  things  to  me 
patiently. 

27* 


318  DAISY. 

1 1  understand/  —  I  said  at  last,  —  *  I  understand 
what  it  would  do  in  war  time.  But  we  are  not  at  war, 
Preston/ 

'No.' 

4  Nor  in  the  least  likely  to  be/ 

4  We  can't  tell.     It  is  good  to  be  ready.' 

4  But  what  do  3Tou  mean  ?  '  I  remember  saying.  *  You 
speak  as  if  we  might  be  at  war.  "Who  is  there  for  us 
to  fight?' 

'Anybody  that  wants  putting  in  order,'  said  Pres 
ton.  4  The  Indians.' 

1 0  Preston,  Preston  ! '  I  exclaimed.  '  The  Indians  ! 
when  we  have  been  doing  them  wrong  ever  since  the 
white  men  came  here  ;  and  you  want  to  do  them  more 
wrong ! ' 

4 1  want  to  hinder  them  from  doing  us  wrong.  But 
I  don't  care  about  the  Indians,  little  Daisy.  I  would 
just  as  lief  fight  the  Yankees.' 

4  Preston,  I  think  you  are  very  wrong.' 

4  You  think  all  the  world  is,'  he  said. 

We  were  silent,  and  I  felt  very  dissatisfied.  What 
was  all  this  military  schooling  a  preparation  for,  per 
haps  ?  How  could  we  know.  Maybe  these  heads  and 
hands,  so  gay  to-day  in  their  mock  fight,  would  be 
grimly  and  sadly  at  work  by  and  by,  in  real  encounter 
with  some  real  enemy. 

4  Do  you  see  that  man,  Daisy  ? '  whispered  Preston 
suddenly  in  my  ear.  4  That  one  talking  to  a  lady  in 
blue'  — 

We  were  on  the  parade  ground,  among  a  crowd  of 
spectators,  for  the  hotels  were  very  full,  and  the  Point 
very  gay  now.  I  said  I  saw  him. 

'  That  is  a  great  man.' 


YANKEES.  319 

4  Is  he?'  I  said,  looking  and  wondering  if  a  great 
man  could  hide  behind  such  a  physiognomy. 

4  Other  people  think  so,  I  can  tell  you,'  said  Preston. 
4  Nobody  knows  what  that  man  can  do.  That  is 
Davis  of  Mississippi.' 

The  name  meant  nothing  to  me  then.  I  looked  at  him 
as  I  would  have  looked  at  another  man.  And  I  did 
not  like  what  I  saw.  Something  of  sinister,  nothing 
noble,  about  the  countenance ;  power  there  might  be 
—  Preston  said  there  was  —  but  the  power  of  the  fox 
and  the  vulture  it  seemed  to  me ;  sly,  crafty,  false, 
selfish,  cruel. 

4  If  nobody  knows  what  he  can  do,  how  is  it  so  cer 
tain  that  he  is  a  great  man?'  I  asked.  Preston  did 
not  answer.  4 1  hope  there  are  not  many  great  men 
that  look  like  him,'  I  went  on. 

4  Nonsense,  Daisy ! '  said  Preston  in  an  energetic 
whisper.  4  That  is  Davis  of  Mississippi.' 

4  Well  ? '  said  I.  4  That  is  no  more  to  me  than  if  he 
were  Jones  of  New  York.' 

4  Daisy  ! '  said  Preston.  4  If  3*011  are  not  a  true  South 
erner,  I  will  never  love  you  any  more.' 

4  What  do  you  mean  by  a  true  Southerner?  I  do 
not  understand.' 

4  Yes  you  do.  A  true  Southerner  is  always  a  South 
erner,  and  takes  the  part  of  a  Southerner  in  every 
dispute,  —  right  or  wrong.' 

4  What  makes  you  dislike  Northerners  so  much?' 

4  Cowardly  Yankees  ! '  was  Preston's  reply. 

4  You  must  have  an  uncomfortable  time  among  them, 
if  you  feel  so,'  I  said. 

4  There  are  plenty  of  the  true  sort  here.  I  wish 
you  were  in  Paris,  Daisy;  or  somewhere  else/ 


UAISY. 

1  Why?'  I  said,  laughing. 

4  Safe  with  my  mother,  or  your  mother.  You  want 
teaching.  You  are  too  latitudinarian.  And  you  are 
too  thick  with  the  Yankees,  by  half.' 

I  let  this  opinion  alone,  as  I  could  do  nothing  with 
it ;  and  our  conversation  broke  off  with  Preston  in  a 
very  bad  humour. 

The  next  day,  when  we  were  deep  in  the  woods,  I 
asked  Dr.  Sandford  if  he  knew  Mr.  Davis  of  Missis 
sippi.  He  answered  yes,  rather  drily.  I  knew  the 
doctor  knew  everybody. 

I  asked,  why  Preston  called  him  a  great  man. 

4  Does  he  call  him  a  great  man  ? '  Dr.  Sandford 
asked. 

4 Do  you?' 

4  No,  not  I,  Daisy.  But  that  may  not  hinder  the 
fact.  And  I  may  not  have  Mr.  Gary's  means  of 
judging.' 

4  What  means  can  he  have?'  I  said. 

4  Daisy,'  said  Dr.  Sandford  suddenly,  when  I  had 
forgotten  the  question  in  plunging  through  a  thicket 
of  brushwood,  — 4  if  the  North  and  the  South  should 
split  on  the  subject  of  slavery,  what  side  would  you 
take?' 

4  What  do  you  mean  by  a  44  split "  ? '  I  asked  slowly, 
it.  my  wonderment. 

'  The  States  are  not  precisely  like  a  perfect  crystal, 
Dwisy ;  and  there  is  an  incipient  cleavage  somewhere 
about  Mason  and  Dixon's  line/ 

4  I  do  not  know  what  line  that  is.' 

1  No.  Well,  for  practical  purposes,  you  may  take  it 
ad  the  line  between  the  slave  States  and  the  free.' 

4 But  how  could  there  be  a  split?'  I  asked. 


TA-XXEKS.  32\ 

'There  is  a  wedge  applied  even  now,  Daisy  — the 
question  whether  the  new  States  forming  out  of  our 
Western  territories,  shall  have  slavery  in  them  or  shall 
be  free  States/ 

I  was  silent  upon  this  ;  and  we  walked  and  climbed 
for  a  little  distance,  without  my  remembering  our  geo 
logical  or  mineralogical,  or  any  other  objects  in  view. 

4  The  North  say,'  Dr.  Sandford  then  went  on, 
4  that  these  States  shall  be  free.  The  South  —  or  some 
men  at  the  South  —  threaten  that  if  they  be,  the 
South  will  split  from  the  North,  have  nothing  to  do 
with  us,  and  set  up  for  themselves.' 

4  Who  is  to  decide  it?'  I  asked. 

'  The  people.  This  fall  the  election  will  be  held  for 
the  next  President ;  and  that  will  shew.  If  a  slavery 
man  is  chosen,  we  shall  know  that  a  majority  of  the 
nation  go  with  the  Southern  view.' 

4  If  not?'  — 

1  Then  there  may  be  trouble,  Daisy/ 

'What  sort  of  trouble?'  I  asked  hastily. 

Dr.  Sandford  hesitated,  and  then  said,  4 1  do  not 
know  how  far  people  will  go.' 

I  mused,  and  forgot  the  sweet  flutter  of  green  leaves, 
and  smell  of  moss  and  of  hemlock,  and  golden  bursts 
of  sunshine,  amongst  which  we  were  pursuing  our  way. 
Preston's  strange  heat  and  sudden  Southernism,  Mr. 
Davis's  wile  and  greatness,  a  coming  disputed  election, 
quarrels  between  the  people  where  I  was  born  and  the 
people  where  I  was  brought  up,  divisions  and  jeal 
ousies,  floated  before  my  mind  in  unlovely  and  con 
fused  visions.  Then  remembering  my  father  and  my 
mother  and  Gary  Mc.Farlane,  and  others  whom  I  had 
known,  I  spoke  again. 


322  DAISY. 

'  Whatever  the  Southern  people  say,  they  will  do, 
Dr.  Sandford.' 

4  Provided  — '  said  the  doctor. 

4  What,  if  you  please  ? ' 

4  Provided  the  North  will  let  them,"  Daisy.' 

I  thought  privately  they  could  not  hinder.  I 
thought  they  could  not.  Would  there  be  a  trial? 
Could  it  be  possible  there  would  be  a  trial. 

4  But  you  have  not  answered  my  question,'  said  the 
doctor.  '  Aren't  you  going  to  answer  it  ? ' 

4  What  question?' 

4  As  to  the  side  you  would  take.' 

4 1  do  not  want  any  more  slave  States,  Dr.  Sand- 
ford.' 

4 1  thought  so.     Then  you  would  be  with  the  North.' 

4  But  people  will  never  be  so  foolish  as  to  come  to 
what  you  call  a  "  split,"  Dr.  Sandford.' 

4  Upon  my  word,  Daisy,  as  the  world  is  at  present, 
the  folly  of  a  thing  is  no  presumptive  argument 
against  its  coming  into  existence.  Look  —  here  we 
shall  get  a  nice  piece  of  quartz  for  your  collection.' 

I  came  back  to  the  primary  rocks,  and  for  the  pres 
ent  dismissed  the  subject  of  the  confusions  existing  on 
the  surface  of  the  earth ;  hoping  sincerely  that  there 
would  be  no  occasion  for  calling  it  up  again. 

For  some  time  I  saw  very  little  of  Preston.  He  was 
busy,  he  said.  My  days  flowed  on  like  the  summer 
sunshine,  and  were  as  beneficent.  I  was  gaining 
strength  every  day.  Dr.  Sandford  decreed  that  I  must 
stay  as  long  as  possible.  Then  Mr.  Sandford  cams, 
the  doctor's  brother,  and  added  hij  social  weight  to 
our  party.  Hardly  needed,  for  I  perceived  that  we 
were  very  much  sought  after ;  at  least  my  companions. 


YANKEES.  323 

The  doctor  in  especial  was  a  very  great  favourite,  both 
with  men  and  women ;  who  I  notice  are  most  ready  to 
bestow  their  favour  where  it  is  least  cared  for,  I  don'fc 
know  but  Dr.  Sandford  cared  for  it ;  only  he  did  not 
shew  that  he  did.  The  claims  of  society  however  be 
gan  to  interfere  with  my  geological  and  other  lessons. 

A  few  days  after  his  brother's  arrival,  the  doctor  had 
been  carried  off  by  a  party  of  gentlemen  who  were  go 
ing  back  in  the  mountains  to  fish  in  the  White  Lakes. 
I  was  left  to  the  usual  summer  delights  of  the  place  ; 
which  indeed  to  me  were  numberless  ;  began  with  the 
echo  of  the  morning  gun,  (or  before)  and  ended  not  till 
the  three  taps  of  the  drum  at  night.  The  cadets  had 
gone  into  camp  by  this  time  ;  and  the  taps  of  the  drum 
were  quite  near,  as  well  as  the  shrill  sweet  notes  of  the 
fife  at  reveille  and  tattoo.  The  camp  itself  was  a  great 
pleasure  to  me ;  and  at  guardmounting  or  parade  I 
never  failed  to  be  in  my  place.  Only  to  sit  in  the  rear 
of  the  guard  tents  and  watch  the  morning  sunlight  on 
the  turf,  and  on  the  hills  over  the  river,  and  shining 
down  the  camp  alleys,  was  a  rich  satisfaction.  Mrs. 
Sandford  laughed  at  me  ;  her  husband  said  it  was  '  nat 
ural,'  though  I  am  sure  he  did  not  understand  it  a  bit ; 
but  the  end  of  all  was,  that  I  was  left  very  often  to  go 
alone  down  the  little  path  to  the  guard-tents  among 
the  crowd  that  twice  a  day  poured  out  there  from  our 
hotel  and  met  the  crowd  that  came  up  from  Cozzeus's 
hotel  below. 

So  it  was,  one  morning  that  I  remember.  Guard- 
mounting  was  always  late  enough  to  let  one  feel  the 
sun's  power ;  and  it  was  a  sultry  morning,  this.  We 
were  in  July  now,  and  misty,  vapourous  clouds  moved 
slowly  over  tne  blue  sky,  seeming  to  intensify  the 


324  DAISY. 

heat  of  the  unclouded  intervals.  But  wonderful  sweet 
it  was ;  and  I  under  the  shade  of  my  flat  hat,  with  a 
little  help  from  the  foliage  of  a  young  tree,  did  not 
mind  it  at  all.  Every  bit  of  the  scene  was  a  pleasure 
to  me ;  I  missed  none  of  the  details.  The  files  of 
cadets  in  the  camp  alleys  getting  their  arms  inspected  ; 
the  white  tents  themselves,  with  curtains  tightly  done 
up  ;  here  and  there  an  officer  crossing  the  camp  ground 
and  stopping  to  speak  to  an  orderly ;  then  the  coming 
up  of  the  band,  the  music,  the  marching  out  of  the 
companies ;  the  leisurely  walk  from  the  camp  of  the 
officer  in  charge,  drawing  on  his  white  gloves ;  his 
stand  and  his  attitude ;  and  then  the  pretty  business 
of  the  parade.  All  under  that  July  sky ;  all  under 
that  flicker  of  cloud  and  sun,  and  the  soft  sweet  breath 
of  air  that  sometimes  stole  to  us  to  relieve  the  hot 
stillness ;  and  all  with  that  setting  and  background 
of  cedars  and  young  foliage  and  bordering  hills  over 
which  the  cloud  shadows  swept.  Then  came  the 
mounting  guard  business.  By  and.  by  Preston  came 
to  me. 

4  Awfully  hot,  Daisy  ! '  he  said. 

4  Yes,  you  are  out  in  it,'  I  said  compassionately. 

4  What  are  you  out  in  it  for?' 

4  Why,  I  like  it,'  I  said.  '  How  come  you  to  be  one 
of  the  red  sashes  this  morning  ? ' 

4 1  have  been  an  officer  of  the  guard  this  last  twenty- 
four  hours.' 

4  Since  yesterday  morning  ? ' 

4  Yes.' 

4  Do  you  like  it,  Preston  ? ' 

4  Like  it !  '  he  said.  '  Like  guard  duty !  Why 
Daisy,  when  a  fellow  has  left  his  shoe  string  untied,,  or 


YANKEES.  325 

something  or  other  like  that,  they  put  him  on  extra 
guard  duty  to  punish  him.' 

4  Did  you  ever  do  so,  Preston  ?  ' 

4  Did  I  ever  do  so?'  he  repeated  savagely.  'Do 
you  think  I  have  been  raised  like  a  Yankee,  to  take 
care  of  my  shoes?  That  Blunt  is  just  fit  to  stand 
behind  a  counter  and  measure  inches  ! ' 

I  was  very  near  laughing,  but  Preston's  mood  would 
not  bear  that. 

4 1  don't  think  it  is  beneath  a  gentleman  to  keep  his 
shoe  strings  tied,'  I  said. 

4  A  gentleman  can't  always  think  of  everything  ! ' 
was  Preston's  answer. 

4  Then  you  are  glad  you  have  only  one  year  more  at 
the  Academy  ? ' 

4  Of  course  I  am  glad  !  I'll  never  be  under  Yankee 
rule  again  ;  not  if  I  know  it.' 

4  Suppose  they  elect  a  Yankee  President  ?  '  I  said  ; 
but  Preston's  look  was  so  eager  and  so  sharp  at  me 
that  I  was  glad  to  cover  rny  rash  suggestion  under 
another  subject  as  soon  as  possible. 

4  Are  you  going  to  be  bus}'  this  afternoon  ? '  I  asked 
him. 

4  No,  I  reckon  not.' 

4  Suppose  you  come  and  go  up  to  the  Fort  with 
me?' 

4  What  fort?' 

4  Fort  Putnam.     I  have  never  been  there  yet.' 

4  There  is  nothing  on  earth  to  go  there  for,'  said 
Preston  shrugging  his  shoulders.  4  Just  broil  yourself 
in  the  sun,  and  get  nothing  for  it.  It's  an  awful  pull 
vp  hill ;  rough,  and  all  that ;  and  nothing  at  the  top 
but  an  old  stone  wall.' 
28 


326  DAISY. 

'  But  there  is  the  view ! '  I  said. 

4  You  have  got  it  down  here  — just  as  good.  Just 
climb  up  the  hotel  stairs  fifty  times  without  stopping, 
and  then  look  out  of  the  thing  at  top  —  and  you  have 
been  to  Fort  Putnam/ 

*  Why  I  want  to  go  to  the  top  of  Crow's  Nest,'  I 
said. 

'  Yes !  I  was  ass  enough  to  try  that  once/  said 
Preston,  '  when  I  was  just  come,  and  thought  I  must 
do  everything  ;  but  if  anybody  wants  to  insult  me,  let 
him  just  ask  me  to  do  it  again  ! ' 

Preston's  mood  was  unmanageable.  I  had  never 
seen  him  so  in  old  times.  I  thought  West  Point  did 
not  agree  with  him.  I  listened  to  the  band,  just  then 
playing  a  fine  air,  and  lamented  privately  to  mj'self 
that  brass  instruments  should  be  so  much  more  har 
monious  than  human  tempers.  Then  the  music  ceased 
and  the  military  movements  drew  my  attention  again. 

I  They  all  walk  like  }7ou,'  I  observed  carelessty,  as  I 
noticed  a  measured  step  crossing  the  camp  ground. 

4  Do  they  ? '  said  Preston  sneeringly.  4 1  flatter  my 
self  I  do  not  walk  like  all  of  them.  If  you  notice 
more  closely,  Dais}^  you  will  see  a  difference.  You 
can  tell  a  Southerner,  on  foot  or  on  horseback,  from 
the  sons  of  tailors  and  farmers  —  strange  if  you 
couldn't ! ' 

II  think  you  are  unjust,   Preston,'  I  said.     'You 
should  not  talk  so.     Major  Blunt  walks  as  well  and 
stands  much  better  than   any  officer  I  have  seen  ;  and 
he  is  from  Vermont ;  and  Capt.  Percival  is  from  South 
Carolina,  and  Mr.  Hunter  is  from  Virginia,  and  Col 
Forsyth  is  from  Georgia.     They  are  all  of  them  less 
graceful  than  Major  Blunt/ 


YANKEES.  327 

'  What  do  you  think  of  Dr.  Sandford  ? '  said  Preston 
in  the  same  tone  ;  but  before  I  could  answer  I  heard  a 
call  of  '  Gary  !  —  Gary  ! '  I  looked  round.  In  the 
midst  of  the  ranks  of  spectators  to  our  left  stood  a 
cadet,  my  friend  of  the  omnibus.  He  was  looking  im 
patiently  our  way,  and  again  exclaimed  in  a  sort  of 
suppressed  shout  —  4  Gaiy  ! '  Preston  heard  him  that 
time ;  started  from  my  side,  and  placed  himself  im 
mediately  beside  his  summoner,  in  front  of  the  guard 
tents  and  spectators.  The  two  were  in  line,  two  or 
three  yards  separating  them,  and  both  facing  towards 
a  party  drawn  up  at  some  little  distance  on  the  camp 
ground,  which  I  believe  were  the  relieving  guard.  I 
moved  my  own  position  to  a  place  immediately  behind 
them,  where  I  spied  an  empty  camp  stool,  and  watched 
the  two  with  curious  eyes.  Uniforms,  and  military 
conformities  generally,  are  queer  things  if  you  take  the 
right  point  of  view.  Here  were  these  two,  a  pair,  and 
not  a  pair.  The  grey  coat,  and  the  white  pantaloons, 
(they  had  all  gone  into  white  now)  the  little 
soldier's  cap,  were  a  counterpart  in  each  of  the  other ; 
the  two  even  stood  on  the  ground  as  if  they  were  bound 
to  be  patterns  each  of  the  other ;  and  when  my  ac 
quaintance  raised  his  arms  and  folded  them  after  the 
approved  fashion,  to  my  great  amusement  Preston's 
arms  copied  the  movement ;  and  they  stood  like  two 
brother  statues,  still  from  their  heels  to  their  cap  rims. 
Except  when  once  the  right  arm  of  my  unknown  friend 
was  unbent  to  give  a  military  sign,  in  answer  to  some 
demand  or  address  from  somebody,  in  front  of  him, 
which  I  did  not  hear.  Yet  as  I  watched,  I  began  to 
discern  how  individual  my  two  statues  really  were.  I 
could  not  see  faces,  of  course.  But  the  grey  coat  on 


328  DAISY. 

the  one  looked  as  if  its  shoulders  had  been  more  care 
fully  brushed  than  had  been  the  case  with  the  other ; 
the  spotless  pantaloons,  which  seemed  to  be  just  out 
of  the  laundress's  basket,  as  I  suppose  they  were,  sat 
with  a  trimmer  perfection  in  one  case  than  in  the  other. 
Preston's  pocket  gaped,  and  was,  I  noticed,  a  little  bit 
ripped  ;  and  when  my  eye  got  down  to  the  shoes,  his 
had  not  the  black  gloss  of  his  companion's.  With  that 
one  there  was  not.  I  think,  a  thread  awry.  And  then, 
there  was  a  certain  relaxation*  in  the  lines  of  Preston's 
figure  impossible  to  describe,  stiff  and  motionless 
though  he  was  ;  something  which  prepared  one  for  a  lax 
and  careless  movement  when  he  moved.  Perhaps  this 
was  fancy  and  only  arose  from  my  knowledge  of  the 
fact ;  but  with  the  other  no  such  fancy  was  possible. 
Still,  but  alert ;  motionless,  but  full  of  vigour ;  I  ex 
pected  what  came ;  firm,  quick,  and  easy  action,  as 
soon  as  he  should  cease  to  be  a  statue. 

So  much  for  a  back  view  of  character;  which  en 
grossed  me  till  my  two  statues  went  away. 

A  little  while  after  Preston  came  to  me.  4  Are  you 
here  yet?'  he  said. 

4  Don't  you  like  to  have  me  here  ? ' 

*  It's  hot.  And  it  is  very  stupid  for  you,  I  should 
think.  Where  is  Mrs.  Sandford  ?  ' 

4  She  thinks  as  you  do,  that  it  is  stupid.' 

4  You  ought  not  to  be  here  without  some  one/ 

4  Why  not  ?  What  cadet  was  that  who  called  you, 
Preston?' 

4  Called  me  ?    Nobody  called  me.' 

4  Yes  he  did.  When  you  were  sitting  with  me.  Who 
was  it  ? 


YANKEES.  32S 

4  I  don't  know ! '  said  Preston.  '  Good  bye.  I  shall 
be  busy  for  a  day  or  two.' 

*  Then  you  cannot  go  to  Fort  Putnam  this  after 
noon  ? ' 

4  Fort  Putnam !  I  should  think  not.  It  is  going  to 
be  broiling  to-day.' 

And  he  left  me.  Things  had  gone  wrong  with 
Preston  lately,  I  thought.  But  before  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  to  move,  two  other  cadets  came  before  me. 
One  of  them  Mrs.  Sandford  knew,  and  I  slightly. 

4  Miss  Randolph,  my  friend  Mr.  Thorold  has  begged 
me  to  introduce  him  to  you.' 

It  was  my  friend  of  the  omnibus.  I  think  we  liked 
each  other  at  this  very  first  moment.  I  looked  up  at  a 
manly,  well-featured  face,  just  then  lighted  with  a  little 
smile  of  deference  and  recognition ;  but  permanently 
lighted  with  the  brightest  and  quickest  hazel  eyes  that 
I  ever  saw.  Something  about  the  face  pleased  me  on 
the  instant.  I  believe  it  was  the  frankness. 

1 1  have  to  apologize  for  my  rudeness,  in  calling  a 
gentleman  away  from  you,  Miss  Randolph,  in  a  very 
unceremonious  manner,  a  little  while  ago.' 

4  O  I  know,'  I  said.    '  I  saw  what  you  did  with  him.' 

4  Did  I  do  anything  with  him  ! ' 

4  Only  called  him  to  his  duty,  I  suppose.' 

4  Precisely.  He  was  very  excusable  for  forgetting  it ; 
but  it  might  have  been  inconvenient.' 

4 Do  you  think  it  is  ever  excusable  to  forget  duty?' 
I  asked ;  and  I  was  rewarded  with  a  swift  flash  of  fun 
in  the  hazel  eyes,  that  came  and  went  like  forked 
lightning. 

4  It  is  not  easily  pardoned  here,'  he  answered. 

4  People  don't  make  allowances  ? ' 
28* 


330  DAISY. 

*  Not  officers,'  he  said  with  a  smile.     '  ScT.diers  lose 
th-3  character  of  men,  when  they  are  on  duty ;  the}7  are 
only  reckoned  machines/ 

;  You  do  not  mean  that  exactly,  I  suppose.' 
'  Indeed  I  do  ! '  he  said  with  another  slighter  corrus- 
cation.     '  Intelligent  machines,  of  course,  but  with  no 
more   latitude  of  action.  —  You  would    not  like  that 
life?' 

*  I  should  think  you  would  not.' 

4  Ah,  but  we  hope  to  rise  to  the  management  of  the 
machines,  some  day.' 

I  thought  I  saw  in  his  face  that  he  did.  I  remarked 
that  I  should  not  think  the  management  of  mere  ma 
chines  could  be  very  pleasant. 

*  Why  not?' 

'  It  is  degrading  to  the  machines,  —  and  so,  I  should 
think,  it  would,  not  be  very  elevating  to  those  who 
make  them  machines.' 

'  That  is  exactly  the  use  they  propose  them  to  serve, 
though,'  he  said  looking  amused ;  '  the  elevation  of 
themselves.' 

'  I  know'  —  I  said,  thinking  that  the  end  was  igno 
ble  too. 

'  You  do  not  approve  it  ?  '  he  said. 

I  felt  those  brilliant  eyes  dancing  all  over  me,  and 
I  fancied,  over  my  thoughts  too.  I  felt  a  little  shy  of 
going  on  to  explain  myself  to  one  whom  I  knew  so  lit 
tle.  He  turned  the  conversation,  by  asking  me  if  I 
had  seen  all  the  lions  yet? 

I  said,  I  supposed  not. 

1  Have  you  been  up  to  the  old  fort  ? ' 

'  I  want  to  go  there,'  I  said  ;  4  but  somebody  told  me 
to-day,  there  was  nothing  worth  going  for.' 


331 


'  Has  his  report  taken  away  your  desire  to  make  the 
trial?' 

'  No,  for  I  do  not  believe  he  is  right/ 

'Might  I  offer  myself  as  a  guide?  I  can  be  disen 
gaged  this  afternoon  ;  and  I  know  all  the  ways  to  the 
fort.  It  would  give  me  great  pleasure/ 

I  felt  it  would  give  me  great  pleasure  too,  and  so  I 
told  him.  We  arranged  for  the  hour,  and  Mr.  Thorold 
hastened  away. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

PORT      PUTNAM. 

4 1  AM  going  to  Fort  Putnam  this  afternoon,  with 
Mr.  Thorold,'  —  I  announced  to  Mrs.  Sandford,  after 
dinner. 

1  Who  is  Mr.  Thorold?' 

1  One  of  the  cadets.' 

4  One  of  the  cadets  !  So  it  has  got  hold  of  you  at 
last,  Daisy ! ' 

4  What,  Mrs.  Sandford?' 

'But  Fort  Putnam?  My  dearest  child,  it  is  very 
hot!' 

4  O,  yes,  ma'am  —  I  don't  mind  it.' 

4  Well,  I  am  very  glad,  if  you  don't,'  said  Mrs.  Sand- 
ford.  4  And  I  am  very  glad  Grant  has  taken  himself 
off  to  the  White  Lakes.  He  gave  nobody  else  any 
chance.  It  will  do  you  a  world  of  good.' 

4  What  will  ? '  I  asked,  wondering. 

4  Amusement,  dear,  —  amusement.  Something  a 
great  deal  better  than  Grant's  'elogies  and  'ologies. 
Now  this  would  never  have  happened  if  he  had  been 
at  home.' 

I  did  not  understand  her,  but  then  I  knew  she  did 
not  understand  the  pursuits  she  so  slighted ;  and  it 
was  beyond  my  powers  to  enlighten  her.  So  I  did  not 
try. 


FORT  PUTNAM.  833 

Mr.  Thorold  was  punctual,  and  so  was  I ;  and  we  set 
forth  at  five  o'clock,  I  at  least  as  happy  as  it  was  pos 
sible  to  be.  Warm  it  was,  yet ;  we  went  slowly  down 
the  road,  in  shadow  and  sunshine ;  tasting  the  pleas 
antness,  it  seems  to  me,  of  every  tree,  and  feeling  the 
sweetness  of  each  breath ;  in  that  slight  exhilaration 
of  spirits  which  loses  nothing  and  forgets  nothing.  At 
least  I  have  a  good  memory  for  such  times.  There 
was  a  little  excitement,  no  doubt,  about  going  this 
walk  with  a  cadet  and  a  stranger,  which  helped  the 
whole  effect. 

I  made  use  of  my  opportunity  to  gain  a  great  deal 
of  information  which  Dr.  Sandford  could  not  give.  I 
wanted  to  understand  the  meaning  and  the  use  of 
many  things  I  saw  about  the  Point.  Batteries  and  for 
tifications  were  a  mysterious  jumble  to  me  ;  shells  were 
a  horrible  novelty  ;  the  whole  art  and  trade  of  a  sol 
dier,  something  well  worth  studying,  but  difficult  to 
see  as  a  reasonable  whole.  The  adaptation  of  parts 
to  an  end,  I  could  perceive ;  the  end  itself  puzzled 
me. 

'  Yet  there  has  always  been  fighting/  —  said  my 
companion. 

*  Yes,'  —  I  assented. 

'  Then  we  must  be  ready  for  it.' 

But  I  was  not  prepared  in  this  case  with  my  an 
swer. 

4  Suppose  we  were  unjustly  attacked  ? '  —  said  Mr. 
Thorold  ;  and  I  thought  every  one  of  the  gilt  buttons 
on  his  grey  jacket  repelled  the  idea  of  a  peaceable 
composition. 

4 1  don't  know, '  —  said  I  pondering.     '  Why  should 


334  DA2SST. 

the  rule  be  different  for  nations  and  for  individual  peo 
ple  ?' 

4  What  is  your  rule  for  individual  people?'  he  asked, 
laughing  and  looking  down  at  me,  as  he  held  the  gate 
open.  I  can  see  the  look  and  the  attitude  now* 

4  It  is  not  my  rule,'  I  said. 

*  The  rule,  then.     What  should  a  man  do,  Miss  Ran 
dolph,  when  he  is  unjustly  attacked?' 

I  felt  I  was  on  very  untenable  ground,  talking  to  a 
soldier.  If  I  was  right,  what  was  the  use  of  his  grey 
coat,  or  of  West  Point  itself.  We  were  mounting  the 
little  steep  pitch  beyond  the  gate,  where  the  road 
turns ;  and  I  waited  till  I  got  upon  level  footing. 
Then  catching  a  bright  inquisitive  glance  of  the  hazel 
eyes,  I  summoned  up  my  courage  and  spoke. 

'  I  have  no  rule  but  the  Bible,  Mr.  Thorold.' 

4  The  Bible  !  What  does  the  Bible  say  ?  It  tells  of 
a  great  deal  of  fighting.' 

'  Of  bad  men/ 

*  Yes,  but  the  Jews  were  commanded  to  fight,  were 
they  not  ? ' 

4  To  punish  bad  men.  But  we  have  got  another  rule 
since  that.' 

4  What  is  it  ?' 

4  If  any  man  smite  thee  on  the  one  cheek,  turn  to 
him  the  other  also.' 

4  Is  it  possible  you  think  the  Bible  means  that  liter 
ally?'  he  said. 

4  Do  you  think  it  would  say  what  it  did  not  mean  ? ' 

4  But  try  it  by  the  moral  effect ;  what  sort  of  a  fellow 
would  a  man  be  who  did  so,  Miss  Randolph? ' 

4 1  think  he  would  be  fine ! '  —  I  said ;  for  I  Was 
thinking  of  One  who  4  when  he  was  reviled,  reviled  not 


FORT  PUTNAM.  335 

again ;  when  he  suffered,  he  threatened  not.'  But  I 
could  not  tell  all  my  thought  to  Mr.  Thorold  ;  no  more 
than  I  could  to  Dr.  Sandford. 

*  And  would  you  have  him  stand  by  and  see  another 
injured  ?  '  nry  companion  asked.  '  Wouldn't  you  have 
him  fight  in  such  a  case  ? ' 

I  had  not  considered  that  question.     I  was  silent. 

4  Suppose  he  sees  wrong  done ;  wrong  that  a 
few  well  planted  blows  —  or  shots,  if  you  like  ;  shots 
are  but  well  directed  blows,'  he  said,  smiling ;  — 
4  wrong  that  a  few  well  planted  blows  would  prevent 
—  Suppose  somebody  were  to  attack  you  now,  for  in 
stance  ;  ought  I  not  to  fight  for  it  ? ' 

4 1  should  like  to  have  you,'  I  said. 

4  Come ! '  he  said  laughing,  and  stretching  out  his 
hand  to  shake  mine,  —  '  I  see  you  will  let  me  keep  my 
profession,  after  all.  And  why  should  not  a  nation 
do,  on  a  larger  scale,  what  a  man  may  do?' 

4  Why  it  may,'  I  said. 

4  Then  West  Point  is  justified.' 

4  But  very  few  wars  in  the  world  are  conducted  on 
that  principle,'  I  said. 

4  Very  few.  In  fact  I  do  not  at  this  moment  recol 
lect  the  instances.  But  you  would  allow  a  man,  or  a 
nation  to  fight  in  self-defence,  —  would  not  you?' 

I  pondered  the  matter.  4 1  suppose  he  has  a  right 
to  protect  his  life,'  I  said.  4  But  4;  if  a  man  smite  thee 
on  the  cheek,"  —  that  does  not  touch  life.' 

4  What  would  you  think  of  a  man,'  said  my  compan 
ion  gravel}7,  — 4  who  should  suffer  some  one  to  give  him 
such  a  blow,  without  taking  any  notice  of  it  ? ' 

'  If  he  did  it  because  he  was  afraid,'  I  said,  4  of 
course  I  shouldn't  like  that.  But  if  he  did  it  to  obey 


336  DAISY. 

the  Bible  —  I  should  think  it  was  noble.  The  Bible 
says  "  it  is  glory,  to  pass  by  a  transgression."  ' 

'  But  suppose  he  was  afraid  of  being  thought 
afraid?' 

I  looked  at  my  companion,  and  felt  instinctively 
sure  that  neither  this  nor  my  first  supposed  case  would 
ever  be  true  of  him.  Further,  I  felt  sure  that  no  one 
would  ever  be  hardy  enough  to  give  the  supposed  oc 
casion.  I  can  hardly  tell  how  I  knew  ;  it  was  by  some 
of  those  indescribable  natural  signs.  We  were  slowly 
mounting  the  hill ;  and  in  every  powerful,  lithe  move 
ment,  in  the  very  set  of  his  shoulders  and  head,  and 
as  well  in  the  sparkle  of  the  bright  eye  which  looked 
round  at  me,  I  read  the  tokens  of  a  spirit  which  I 
thought  neither  had  known  nor  ever  would  know  the 
sort  of  indignity  he  had  described.  He  was  talking 
for  talk's  sake.  But  while  I  looked,  the  sparkle  of  the 
eye  grew  very  merry. 

4  You  are  judging  me,  Miss  Randolph,'  he  said. 
4  Judge  me  gently.' 

4  No  indeed,'  I  said.  1 1  was  thinking  that  you  are 
not  speaking  from  experience.' 

'  I  am  not  better  than  you  think  me,'  he  said,  laugh 
ing  and  shaking  his  head.  And  the  laugh  was  so  full 
of  merriment  that  it  infected  me.  I  saw  he  was  very 
much  amused  ;  I  thought  he  was  a  little  interested  too. 
*  You  know,'  he  went  on,  '  my  education  has  been  un 
favourable.  I  have  fought  for  a  smaller  matter  than 
that  you  judge  insufficient.' 

'  Did  it  do  any  good?'  I  asked. 

He  laughed  again ;  picked  up  a  stone  and  threw  it 
into  the  midst  of  a  thick  tree  to  dislodge  something  — 
I  did  not  see  what ;  and  finally  looked  round  at  me 


FORT  PUTNAM.  337 

with  the  most  genial   amusement   and   good  nature 
mixed.     I  knew  he  was  interested  now. 

4 1  don't  know  how  much  good  it  did  to  anybody  but 
myself/  he  said.  '  It  comforted  me  —  at  the  time. 
Afterwards,  I  remember  thinking  it  was  hardly  worth 
while.  But  if  a  fellow  should  suffer  an  insult,  as  you 
say,  and  not  take  any  notice  of  it,  what  do  yon  sup 
pose  would  become  of  him  in  the  corps  —  or  in  the 
world  either  ? ' 

1  He  would  be  a  noble  man,  all  the  same,'  I  said. 

4  But  people  like  to  be  well  thought  of  by  their 
friends  and  society.' 

4 1  know  that/ 

4  He  would  be  sent  to  Coventry  unmitigatedly.' 

4 1  cannot  help  it,  Mr.  Thorold,'  I  said.  4  If  any 
body  does  wrong  because  he  is  afraid  of  the  conse 
quences  of  doing  right,  he  is  another  sort  of  a  coward 
—  that  is  all!' 

Mr.  Thorold  laughed,  and  catching  my  hand  as  we 
came  to  a  turn  in  the  road  where  the  woods  fell  away 
right  and  left,  brought  me  quick  round  the  angle,  with 
out  letting  me  go  to  the  edge  of  the  bank  to  get  the 
view. 

4  You  must  not  look  till  you  get  to  the  top,'  he  said. 

4  What  an  odd  road ! '  I  remarked.  4  It  just  goes  by 
zigzags.' 

4  The  only  way  to  get  up  at  all,  without  travelling 
round  the  hill.  That  is,  for  horses.' 

It  was  steep  enough  for  foot  way-farers,  but  the 
road  was  exceeding  comfortable  that  day.  We  were 
under  the  shade  of  trees  all  the  way ;  and  talk  never 
lagged.  Mr.  Thorold  was  infinitely  pleasant  to  me  ;  as 
well  as  unlike  any  one  of  all  my  former  acquaintances. 
29 


338  DAISY. 

There  was  a  wealth  of  life  in  him,  that  delighted  my 
quieter  nature  ;  an  amount  of  animal  spirits  that  were 
just  a  constant  little  impetus  to  me ;  and  from  the  first 
I  got  an  impression  of  strength,  such  as  weakness 
loves  to  have  near.  Bodily  strength  he  had  also,  in 
perfection ;  but  I  mean  now  the  firm  self-reliant 
nature,  quick  at  resources,  ready  to  act  as  to  decide, 
and  full  of  the  power  that  has  its  spring  and  magazine 
in  character  alone.  So,  enjoying  each  other,  we  went 
slowly  up  the  zigzags  of  the  hill,  very  steep  in  places, 
and  very  rough  to  the  foot ;  but  the  last  pitch  was 
smoother,  and  there  the  grey  old  bulwarks  of  the 
ruined  fortification  faced  down  upon  us,  just  above. 

'  Now/  said  Mr.  Thorold,  coming  on  the  outside  of 
me  to  prevent  it,  — 4  don't  look!'  —  and  we  turned 
into  the  entrance  of  the  fort,  between  two  outstanding 
walls.  Going  through,  we  hurried  up  a  little  steep  rise, 
till  we  got  to  a  smooth  spread  of  grass,  sloping  gent 
ly  to  a  level  with  the  top  of  the  wall.  Where  this 
slope  reached  its  highest,  where  the  parapet  (as  Mr 
Thorola  called  it)  commanded  a  clear  view  from  the 
eastern  side,  there  he  brought  me,  and  then  permitted 
me  to  stand  still.  I  do  not  know  how  long  I  stood  quite 
still  without  speaking. 

'Will  you  sit  down?'  said  my  companion;  and  I 
found  he  had  spread  a  pocket-handkerchief  on  the 
bank  for  me.  The  turf  in  that  place  was  about  eigh 
teen  inches  higher  than  the  top  of  the  wall,  making  a 
very  convenient  seat.  I  thought  of  Queen  Elizabeth 
and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh ;  but  I  also  thought  the  most 
queenly  thing  I  could  do  was  to  take  the  offered  civil 
ity,  and  I  sat  down.  My  eyes  were  bewildered  with 
the  beauty ;  they  turned  from  one  point  to  another 


FORT  PUTNAM.  339 

with  a  sort  of  wondering,  insatiable  enjoyment. 
There,  beneath  our  feet,  lay  the  little  level  green 
plain ;  its  roads  and  trees  all  before  us  as  in  a  map, 
with  the  lines  of  building  enclosing  it  on  the  south 
and  west.  A  cart  and  oxen  were  slowly  travelling 
across  the  road  between  the  library  and  the  hotel,  look 
ing  like  minute  ants  dragging  a  crumb  along.  Beyond 
them  was  the  stretch  of  brown  earth,  where  the  cav 
alry  exercises  forbade  a  blade  of  grass  to  shew  itself. 
And  beyond  that,  at  the  further  edge  of  the  plain,  the 
little  white  camp ;  its  straight  rows  of  tents  and  the 
alleys  between  all  clearly  marked  out.  Round  all  this 
the  river  curved,  making  a  promontory  of  it ;  a  prom 
ontory  with  fringed  banks,  and  levelled  at  top,  as  it 
seemed,  just  to  receive  the  Military  Academy.  On  the 
other  side  the  river,  a  long  sweep  of  gentle  hills, 
coloured  in  the  fair  colours  of  the  evening ;  curving 
towards  the  northeast  into  a  beautiful  circle  of  soft 
outlines  back  of  the  mountain  which  rose  steep  and 
bold  at  the  water's  edge.  This  mountain  was  the  first 
of  the  group  I  had  seen  from  my  hotel  window. 
Houses  and  churches  nestled  in  the  curve  of  tableland, 
under  the  mountain.  Due  north,  the  parapet  of  the  fort 
rising  sharply  at  its  northern  angle  a  few  feet  from 
where  I  sat,  hindered  my  full  view.  Southerly,  the 
hills  swept  down,  marking  the  course  of  the  river  for 
many  a  mile ;  but  again  from  where  I  sat  I  could  not 
see  how  far.  With  a  sigh  of  pleasure  my  eye  came 
back  to  the  plain  and  the  white  tents. 

4  Is  guard  duty  very  disagreeable  ? '  I  asked,  thinking 
of  Preston's  talk  in  the  morning. 

4  Why  at  mid-day,  with  the  thermometer  at  90°,  it 


340  DAISY. 

is  not  exactly  the  amusement  one  would  choose,'  said 
Mr.  Thorold.  '  I  like  it  at  night  well  enough.' 

1  What  do  you  do?' 

4  Nothing,  but  walk  up  and  down,  two  hours  at  a 
time/ 

1  What  is  the  use  of  it? ' 

*  To  keep  order,  and  make  sure  that  nothing  goes  in 
or  out  that  has  no  business  to  do  it.' 

4  And  they  have  to  carry  their  guns,'  I  said. 
4  Their  muskets  —  yes.' 
4  Are  they  very  heavy  ? ' 

4  No.  Pretty  heavy  for  an  arm  that  is  new  to  it.  I 
never  remember  I  have  mine.' 

*  Mr.  Caxton  said,'  (Mr.  Caxton  was  the  cadet  who 
had  introduced  Mr.  Thorold  to  me)  —  4  Mr.  Caxton  told 
Mrs.  Sandford  that  the  new  cadets  are  sometimes  so 
exhausted  with  their  tour  of  duty  that  they  have  to  be 
carried  off  the  ground.' 

Mr.  Thorold  looked  at  me,  a  very  keen  bright  look 
of  his  hazel  eyes  ;  but  he  said  nothing. 

*  And  he  said,  that  the  little  white  boxes  at  the  cor 
ners  of  the  camp,  were  monuments  to  those  who  had 
fallen  on  duty.' 

*  Just  four  of  them  ! '  —  said  Mr.  Thorold,  settling 
his  cap  down  over  his  brows  ;  but  then  he  laughed,  and 
I  laughed  ;  how  we  laughed  ! 

*  Don't  you  want  to   see  the  rest  of  it?'   he  said, 
jumping  up.     I  did  not  know  there  was  anything  more 
to  see.     Now  however  he  brought  me  up  to  the  high 
angle  of  the  parapet  that  had  intercepted  my  view  to 
the  north.     I  could  hardly  get  away  from  there.     The 
full  magnificence  of  the  mountains  in  that  quarter ;  the 
river's  course  between  them,  the  blue  hills  of  the  dis- 


FORT  PUTNAM.  341 

tant  Shawangunk  range,  and  the  woody  chasm  imme 
diately  at  my  feet,  stretching  from  the  height  where  I 
stood  over  to  the  crest  of  the  Crow's  nest ;  it  took 
away  my  breath.  I  sat  down  again,  while  Mr.  Thorold 
pointed  out  localities  ;  and  did  not  move,  till  I  had  to 
make  way  for  another  party  of  visitors  who  were  com 
ing.  Then  Mr.  Thorold  took  me  all  round  the  edge  of 
the  fort.  At  the  south,  we  looked  down  into  the  woody 
gorge  where  Dr.  Sandford  and  I  had  hunted  for  fossil 
infusoria.  From  here  the  long  channel  of  the  river 
running  southerly,  with  its  bordering  ridge  of  hills, 
and  above  all,  the  wealth  and  glory  of  the  woodland 
and  the  upheaved  rocks  before  me,  were  almost  as 
good  as  the  eastern  view.  The  path  along  the  parapet 
in  places  was  narrow  and  dizzy  ;  but  I  did  not  care  for 
it,  and  my  companion  went  like  a  chamois.  He  helped 
me  over  the  hard  places  ;  hand  in  hand  we  ran  down 
the  steep  slopes ;  and  as  we  went  we  got  very  well  ac 
quainted.  At  last  we  climbed  up  the  crumbling  ma 
sonry  to  a  small  platform  which  commanded  the  view 
both  east  and  south. 

'  What  is  this  place  for  ?  '  I  asked. 
4  To  plant  guns  on.' 

t  They  could  not  reach  to  the  river,  could  they  ? ' 
1  Much  further —  the  guns  of  now-a-days.' 
4  And   the   old  vaults  under  here  —  I  saw  them  as 
we  passed   by, — were  they  prisons,  places  for  pris 
oners?' 

'  A  sort  of  involuntary  prisoners/  said  Mr.  Thorold. 
'  They  are  only  casemates ;  prisons  for  our  own  men 
occasional!}7,  when  shot  and  shell  might  be  flying  too 
thick ;  hiding  places,  in  short.  Would  you  like  to  go 
to  the  laboratory  some  day,  where  we  learn  to  make 
29* 


342  DAISY. 

different  kinds  of  shot,  and  fire-works  and  such 
things  ? ' 

1  O  very  much  !  But,  Mr.  Thorold,  Mr.  Caxton  told 
me  that  Andre  was  confined  in  one  of  these  places 
under  here ;  he  said  his  name  was  written  upon  the 
stones  in  a  dark  corner,  and  that  I  would  find  it.' 

Mr.  Thorold  looked  at  me,  with  an  expression  of 
such  contained  fun  that  I  understood  it  at  once ;  and 
We  had  another  laugh  together.  I  began  to  wonder 
•whether  every  one  that  wore  a  uniform  of  grey  and 
white  with  gilt  buttons  made  it  his  amusement  to  play 
upon  the  ignorance  of  uninitiated  people ;  but  on  re 
flection  I  could  not  think  Mr.  Thorold  had  done  so. 
I  resolved  to  be  careful  how  I  trusted  the  rest  of  the 
cadets,  even  Preston ;  and  indeed  my  companion  re 
marked  that  I  had  better  not  believe  anything  I  heard 
without  asking  him.  We  ran  clown  and  inspected  the 
casemates  ;  and  then  took  our  seats  again  for  one  last 
look  on  the  eastern  parapet.  The  river  and  hills  were 
growing  lovely  in  cooler  lights ;  shadow  was  stealing 
over  the  plain. 

4  Shall  I  see  you  to-morrow  evening  ? '  my  companion 
asked  suddenly. 

'To-morrow  evening?'  I  said.  ll  don't  know.  I 
suppose  we  shall  be  at  home/ 

'  Then  I  shall  not  see  }^ou.     I  meant,  at  the  hop.' 

4  The  hop  ? '  I  repeated.     '  What  is  that  ? ' 

'  The  cadets'  hop.  During  the  encampment  we  have 
a  hop  three  times  a  week  —  a  cotillion  party.  I  hope 
you  will  be  there.  Haven't  you  received  an  invita 
tion?' 

'  I  think  not,'  I  said.  '  I  have  heard  nothing  about 
it.' 


FORT  PUTNAM.  343 

c  I  will  see  that  that  is  set  right/  Mr.  Thorold  re 
marked.  '  And  now,  do  you  know  we  must  go  down? 
—  that  is,  /  must;  and  I  do  not  think  I  can  leave 
you  here.' 

4  O  you  have  to  be  on  parade  ! '  I  exclaimed,  starting 
up  ;  4  and  it  is  almost  time  !  — ' 

It  was  indeed,  and  though  my  companion  put  his 
own  concerns  in  the  background  very  politely,  I  would 
be  hurried.  We  ran  down  the  hill,  Mr.  Thorold's  hand 
helping  me  over  the  rough  way  and  securing  me  from 
stumbling.  In  very  few  minutes  we  were  again  at  the 
gate  and  entered  upon  the  post  limits.  And  there 
were  the  band,  in  dark  column,  just  coming  up  from 
below  the  hill. 

We  walked  the  rest  of  the  way  in  orderly  fashion 
enough,  till  we  got  to  the  hotel  gate  ;  there  Mr.  Thorold 
touched  his  cap  and  left  me,  on  a  run,  for  the  camp.  I 
watched  till  I  saw  he  got  there  in  time  ;  and  then  went 
slowly  in ;  feeling  that  a  great  piece  of  pleasure  was 
over. 

I  had  had  a  great  many  pieces  of  pleasure  in  my 
life,  but  rarely  a,  companion.  Dr.  Sandford,  Miss  Car 
digan,  my  dear  Capt.  Drummond,  were  all  much  in 
advance  of  my  own  age ;  my  servants  were  my  ser 
vants,  at  Magnolia  ;  and  Preston  had  never  associated 
with  me  on  just  the  footing  of  equality.  I  went  up 
stairs  thinking  that  I  should  like  to  see  a  great  deal 
more  of  Mr.  Thorold. 

Mrs.  Sandford  was  on  the  piazza  when  I  came  down, 
and  alone  ;  everybody  was  gone  to  parade.  She  gave 
me  a  little  billet. 

4  Well  Daisy !  —  are  you  walked  to  death,  my  dear? 
Certainly  West  Point  agrees  with  youl  What  a 


344  DAISY. 

colour !  And  what  a  change  !  You  are  not  the  same 
creature  that  we  brought  away  from  New  York.  Well, 
was  it  worth  going  for,  all  the  way  to  see  that  old 
ruin  ?  My  dear !  I  wish  your  father  and  mother 
could  see  you.' 

I  stood  still,  wishing  they  could. 

4  There  is  more  pleasure  for  you '  —  Mrs.  Sandford 
went  on. 

4  What  is  this,  ma'am  ?  * 

'An  invitation.  The  cadets  have  little  parties  for 
dancing,  it  seems,  three  times  a  week,  in  summer; 
poor  fellows !  it  is  all  the  recreation  they  get,  I  sus 
pect  ;  and  of  course,  they  want  all  the  ladies  that  can 
be  drummed  up,  to  help  them  dance.  It's  quite  a 
charity,  they  tell  me.  I  expect  I  shall  have  to  dance 
myself.' 

I  looked  at  the  note,  and  stood  mute,  thinking  what 
I  should  do.  Ever  since  Mr.  Thorold  had  mentioned 
it,  up  on  the  hill,  the  question  had  been  recurring  to 
me.  I  had  never  been  to  a  party  in  my  life,  since  my 
childish  days  at  Melbourne.  Aunt  Gary's  parties  at 
Magnolia  had  been  of  a  different  kind  from  this ;  not 
assemblies  of  young  people.  At  Mme.  Ricard's  I  had 
taken  dancing  lessons,  at  my  mother's  order ;  and  in 
her  drawing  room  I  had  danced  quadrilles  and  waltzes 
with  my  schoolfellows ;  but  Mme.  Ricard  was  very 
particular,  and  nobody  else  was  ever  admitted.  I 
hardly  knew  what  it  was  to  which  I  was  now  invited. 
To  dance  with  the  cadets !  I  knew  only  three  of 
them ;  however,  I  supposed  that  I  might  dance  with 
those  three.  I  had  an  impression  that  amusements  of 
this  kind  were  rather  found  in  the  houses  of  the  gay 
than  the  sober-minded ;  but  this  was  peculiar,  to  help 


FORT  PUTNAM.  345 

the  cadets  dance,  Mrs.  Sandford  said.  I  thought  Mr 
Thorold  wished  I  would  come.  I  wondered  Preston 
had  not  mentioned  it.  He,  I  knew,  was  very  fond  of 
dancing.  I  mused  till  the  people  came  back  from 
parade  and  we  were  called  to  tea ;  but  all  my  musings 
went  no  further.  I  did  not  decide  not  to  go. 

'  Now,  Daisy,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford  the  next  morn 
ing,  '  if  you  are  going  to  the  hop  to-night,  I  don't 
intend  to  have  you  out  in  the  sun  burning  yourself  up. 
It  will  be  terribly  hot ;  and  you  must  keep  quiet.  I 
am  so  thankful  Grant  is  away !  he  would  have  you 
all  through  the  woods,  hunting  for  nobody  knows 
what,  and  bring  you  home  scorched.' 

4  Dear  Mrs.  Sandford,'  I  said,  '  I  can  dance  just  as 
well,  if  I  am  burnt.' 

'  That's  a  delusion,  Daisy.  You  are  a  woman,  after 
all,  my  dear,  —  or  you  will  be  ;  and  you  may  as  well 
submit  to  the  responsibility.  And  you  may  not  know 
it,  but  you  have  a  wonderfully  fine  skin,  my  dear; 
it  always  puts  me  in  mind  of  fresh  cream.' 

'  Cream  is  yellow,'  I  said. 

'Not  all  the  crearn  that  ever  7  saw,'  said  Mrs. 
Sandford.  '  Daisy,  you  need  not  laugh.  You  will  be 
a  queen,  my  dear,  when  you  cease  to  be  a  child. 
What  are  you  going  to  wear  to-night?' 

'  I  don't  know,  ma'am  ;  anything  cool,  I  suppose/ 

4  It  won't  matter  much,'  Mrs.  Sandford  repeated. 

But  3ret  I  found  she  cared  and  it  did  matter,  when  it 
came  to  the  dressing  time.  However  she  was  satisfied 
with  one  of  the  embroidered  muslins  my  mother  had 
sent  me  from  Paris. 

I  think  I  see  myself  now,  seated  in  the  omnibus  and 
trundling  over  the  plain  to  the  cadets'  dancing  rooms. 


346  DAISY. 

The  very  hot,  still  July  night  seems  round  me  again. 
Lights  were  twinkling  in  the  camp,  and  across  the 
plain  in  the  houses  of  the  professors  and  officers ; 
lights  above  in  the  sky  too,  myriads  of  them,  mocking 
the  tapers  that  go  out  so  soon.  I  was  happy  with  a 
little  flutter  of  expectation  ;  quietly  enjoying  mean 
while  the  novel  loveliness  of  all  about  me,  along  with 
the  old  familiar  beauty  of  the  abiding  stars  and  dark 
blue  sky.  It  was  a  five  minutes  of  great  enjoyment. 
But  all  natural  beauty  vanished  from  my  thoughts 
when  the  omnibus  drew  up  at  the  door  of  the  Aca 
demic  Building.  I  was  entering  on  something  un 
tried. 

At  first  sight,  when  we  went  into  the  room,  it  burst 
upon  me  that  it  was  very  pretty.  The  room  was 
dressed  with  flags,  —  and  evergreens,  —  and  with 
uniforms ;  and  undoubtedly  there  is  charm  in  colour, 
and  a  gilt  button  and  a  gold  strap  do  light  up  the 
otherwise  sombre  and  heavy  figures  of  our  Western 
masculine  costume.  The  white  and  rosy  and  blue 
draperies  and  scarfs  that  were  floating  around  the 
forms  of  the  ladies,  were  met  and  set  off  by  the  grey 
and  white  of  the  cadets  and  the  heavier  dark  blue  of 
the  officers.  I  never  anywhere  else  saw  so  pretty  gather 
ings.  I  stood  quite  enchanted  with  the  pleasure  of 
the  eye ;  till  to  my  startled  astonishment,  Capt.  Pcr- 
cival  came  up  and  asked  me  to  dance  the  first  dance 
with  him.  I  had  not  expected  to  dance  with  anybody 
except  Preston  and  Mr.  Thorold,  and  perhaps  Mr. 
Caxton.  Mr.  Thorold  came  up  before  the  dance 
began,  and  I  presented  him  to  Mrs.  Sandford.  He 
asked  me  for  the  first  dance,  then  for  the  second. 


FORT  PUTNAM.  347 

And  there  was  no  more  time  for  an}rthing,  for  the 
dancing  began. 

I  had  alwa^ys  liked  dancing  at  school.  Here  the 
music  was  far  better  and  the  scene  infinitely  prettier ; 
it  was  very  pleasant,  I  thought.  That  is,  when  Capt. 
Percival  did  not  talk ;  for  he  talked  nothings.  I  did 
not  know  how  to  answer  him.  Of  course  it  had  been 
very  hot  to-day ;  and  the  rooms  were  very  full ;  and 
there  were  a  good  many  people  at  the  hotel.  I  had 
nothing  but  an  insipid  affirmative  to  give  to  these 
propositions.  Then  said  Capt.  Percival  insinuat 
ingly— 

4  You  are  from  the   South  ?  ' 

I  had  nothing  but  an  insipid  assent  again. 

4 1  was  sure  of  it,'  he  said.  i  I  could  not  be  mis 
taken.' 

I  wondered  how  he  knew,  but  it  did  not  suit  me  to 
ask  him  ;  and  we  danced  on  again  till  the  dance  came 
to  an  end.  I  was  glad  when  it  did.  In  a  minute 
more  I  was  standing  by  Mrs.  Sandford  and  introduced 
to  Capt.  Boulanger,  who  also  asked  me  to  dance, 
and  engaged  me  for  the  next  but  one ;  and  then  Mr. 
Caxton  brought  up  one  of  his  brother  cadets  and  pre 
sented  him,  and  he  asked  me,  and  looked  disappointed 
when  for  both  the  next  dances  I  was  obliged  to  refuse 
him.  I  was  quite  glad  when  Mr.  Thorold  came  and 
carried  me  off.  The  second  quadrille  went  better  than 
the  first ;  and  I  was  enjoying  myself  unfeignedly,  when 
in  a  pause  of  the  dance  I  remarked  to  my  partner  that 
there  seemed  to  be  plenty  of  ladies  here  to-night. 

*  Plenty,'  he  said.  '  It  is  very  kind  of  them.  What 
then?' 

'  Only  — '  I    said  —  *  so    many    people    came    and 


348  DAISY. 

asked  me  to  dance  in  the  few  minutes  I  stood  by  Mrs. 
Sandford,  and  one  of  them  looked  quite  disappointed 
that  he  could  not  have  me.' 

I  was  met  by  a  look  of  the  keenest  inquiry,  followed 
instantly  and  superseded  by  another  flash  of  expres 
sion.  I  could  not  comprehend  it  at  the  time.  The 
eyes  which  had  startled  me  by  their  steely  gleam, 
softened  wonderfully  with  what  looked  like  nothing  so 
much  as  reverence,  along  with  some  other  expression 
which  I  could  neither  read  at  the  moment  nor  fathom 
afterwards.  Both  looks  were  gone  before  I  could  ask 
him  what  they  meant,  or  perhaps  I  should  have  asked ; 
for  I  was  beginning  to  feel  very  much  at  my  ease  with 
Mr.  Thorold.  I  trusted  him. 

'Did  he  want  you  for  this  dance?'  was  all  he  said. 

1  For  this,  and  for  the  next/  I  answered. 

4  Both  gone !  Well,  may  I  have  the  third,  and  so 
disappoint  somebody  else?'  he  said  laughing. 

If  I  did  not  talk  much  with  Mr.  Thorold  in  intervals 
of  dancing,  at  least  we  did  not  talk  nonsense.  In  the 
next  pause  he  remarked  that  he  saw  I  was  fond  of  this 
amusement. 

4 1  think  I  like  everything,'  I  told  him. 

4  Are  the  hills  better  than  this  ? '  he  whispered. 

4  O  yes  ! '  I  said.     *  Don't  you  think  so  ? ' 

He  smiled  and  said 4  truly  he  did.'  4  You  have  been 
over  the  Flirtation  walk  of  course  ? '  he  added. 

4 1  do  not  know  which  it  is.' 

He  smiled  again,  that  quick  illuminating  smile 
which  seemed  to  sparkle  in  his  hazel  eyes ;  and  nodded 
his  head  a  little. 

'  I  had  the  pleasure  to  see  you  there,  very  early  one 
morning. 


FORT  PUTNAM.  349 

1  O  is  that  it  ? '  I  said.  4 1  have  been  down  that  way 
from  the  hotel  very  often.' 

4  That  way  leads  to  it.  You  were  upon  it,  where 
you  were  sitting.  You  have  not  been  through  it  yet? 
May  I  shew  it  to  you  some  day  ?  To-morrow  ?  ' 

I  agreed  joyfully  ;  and  then  asked  who  were  certain 
of  the  cadets  whom  I  saw  about  the  room,  with  rosettes 
of  ribbon  and  long  streamers  on  the  breast  of  their 
grey  coats  ? 

'Those  are  the  Managers,'  said  my  companion. 
*  You  will  see  enough  of  them.  It  is  their  duty  to 
introduce  poor  fellows  who  want  partners.' 

I  did  not  see  much  of  them  however  that  evening. 
As  soon  as  I  was  released  from  that  dance,  Capt. 
Percival  brought  up  Capt.  Lascelles ;  and  somebody 
else,  Mr.  Sandford,  I  believe,  introduced  Lt.  Vaux,  and 
Major  Fairbairn  ;  and  Major  Pitt  was  another,  I  believe. 
And  Col.  Walruss  brought  up  his  son,  who  was  in  the 
corps  of  cadets.  They  all  wanted  to  dance  with  me ; 
so  it  was  lucky  Mr.  Thorold  had  secured  his  second 
dance,  or  I  could  not  have  given  it  to  him.  I  went 
over  and  over  again  the  same  succession  of  topics,  in 
the  intervals  of  standing  still.  How  the  day  had  been 
warm,  and  the  evening  kept  up  its  character ;  the 
hotels  were  full  now ;  the  cadets  well  off  to  have  so 
many  ladies ;  dancing  a  pleasant  pastime,  and  West 
Point  a  nice  place.  I  got  so  accustomed  to  the 
remarks  I  might  expect,  that  my  mouth  was  ready 
with  an  assenting  4  yes  '  before  the  speaker  began. 
But  the  talking  was  a  small  part  of  the  business  after 
all ;  and  the  evening  went  merrily  for  me,  till  on  a 
sudden  a  shrill  piercing  summons  of  drum  and  fife, 
rolling  as  it  were  into  our  very  ears,  put  a  stop  to 
30 


350  DAISY. 

proceedings.  Midway  in  the  movement  the  dancers 
stopped  ;  there  was  a  hurried  bow  and  curtsey,  and  an 
instant  scattering  of  all  the  gre3^-coated  part  of  the 
assembly.  The  '  hop '  was  over.  \Ve  went  home  in 
the  warm  moonlight,  I  thinking  that  I  had  had  a  very 
nice  time,  and  glad  that  Mr.  Thorold  was  coming  to 
take  me  to  walk  to-morrow. 


HOPS.  351 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

HOPS. 

THE  afternoon  was  very  sultry ;  however  Mr.  Tho- 
rold  came,  and  we  went  for  our  walk.  It  was  so 
sultry  we  went  very  leisurely,  and  also  met  few  peo 
ple  ;  and  instead  of  looking  very  carefully  at  the  beau 
ties  of  nature  and  art  we  had  come  to  see,  we  got 
into  a  great  talk  as  we  strolled  along ;  indeed  some 
times  we  stopped  and  sat  down  to  talk.  Mr.  Thorold 
told  me  about  himself,  or  rather,  about  his  home  in 
Vermont  and  his  old  life  there.  He  had  no  mother, 
and  no  brothers  nor  sisters  ;  only  his  father.  And  he 
described  to  me  the  hills  of  his  native  country,  and 
the  farm  his  father  cultivated,  and  the  people,  and  the 
life  on  the  mountains.  Strong  and  free  and  fresh  and 
independent  and  intelligent  —  that  was  the  impression 
his  talk  made  upon  me,  of  the  country  and  people  and 
life  alike.  Sometimes  my  thoughts  took  a  private 
turn  of  their  own,  branching  off. 

'  Mr.  Thorold/  said  I,  '  do  you  know  Mr.  Davis,  of 
Mississippi  ? ' 

4  Davis  ?    No,  I  don't  know  him,'  he  said  shortly. 

4  You  have  seen  him  ? ' 

*  Yes,  I  have  seen  him  often  enough ;  and  his  wife 
too/ 

'  Do  you  like  his  looks  ? ' 


352  DAISY. 

4  I  do  not.' 

4  He  looks  to  me  like  a  bad  man  — '  I  said  slowly. 
I  said  it  to  Mr.  Thorold  ;  I  would  hardly  have  made 
the  remark  to  another  at  West  Point. 

*  He  is  about  bad  business — '  was  my  companion's 
answer.     4  And  yet  —  I  do  not  know  what  he  is  about ; 
but  I  distrust  the  man/ 

4  Mr.  Thorold,'  said  I,  beginning  cautiously,  4  do  you 
want  to  have  slavery  go  into  the  territories  ? ' 

4  No  ! '  said  he.     4  Do  you  ? ' 

1  No.  What  do  you  think  would  happen  if  a  North 
ern  President  should  be  elected  in  the  fall?' 

*  Then  slavery  would  not  go  into  the  territories,'  he 
said,  looking  a  little  surprised  at  me.     4  The  question 
would  be  settled.' 

4  But  do  you  know  some  people  say  —  some  people  at 
the  South  say  —  that  if  a  Northern  President  is 
elected,  the  Southern  States  will  not  submit  to  him?' 

'  Some  people  talk  a  great  deal  of  nonsense,'  said 
Mr.  Thorold.  '  How  could  they  help  submitting?' 

4  They  say —  it  is  said  —  that  they  would  break  off 
from  the  North  and  set  up  for  themselves.  It  is  not 
foolish  people  that  say  it,  Mr.  Thorold.' 

4  Will  you  pardon  me,  Miss  Randolph,  but  I  think 
they  would  be  very  foolish  people  that  would  do  it.' 

;  O  I  think  so  too,'  I  said.  '  I  mean,  that  some  peo 
ple  who  are  not  foolish,  believe  that  it  might  happen/ 

4  Perhaps,'  said  Mr.  Thorold.  4 1  never  heard  any 
thing  of  it  before.  You  are  from  the  South  yourself, 
Miss  Randolph?'  he  added,  looking  at  me. 

4 1  was  born  there,'  I  said.  And  a  little  silence  fell 
between  us.  I  was  thinking.  Some  impression,  got 
I  suppose  from  my  remembrance  of  father  and  mother, 


HOPS.  353 

Preston,  and  others  whom  I  had  known,  forbade  me  to 
dismiss  quite  so  lightly,  as  too  absurd  to  be  true,  the 
rumour  I  had  heard.  Moreover,  I  trusted  Dr.  Sand- 
ford's  sources  of  information,  living  as  he  did  in  habits 
of  close  social  intercourse  with  men  of  influence  and 
position  at  Washington,  both  Southern  and  Northern. 

'Mr.  Thorold' —  I  broke  the  silence, —  'if  the 
South  should  do  such  a  thing,  what  would  happen  ? ' 

1  There  would  be  trouble,'  he  said. 

1  What  sort  of  trouble?' 

4  Might  be  all  sorts/  said  Mr.  Thorold  laughing ;  4  it 
would  depend  on  how  far  people's  folly  would  carry 
them/ 

'But  suppose  the  Southern  States  should  just  do 
that ;  —  say  they  would  break  off  and  govern  them 
selves?' 

4  They  would  be  like  a  bad  boy  that  has  to  be  made 
to  take  medicine/ 

4  How  could  you  make  them  ? '  I  asked,  feeling  un 
reasonably  grave  about  the  question. 

4  You  can  see,  Miss  Randolph,  that  such  a  thing 
could  not  be  permitted.  A  Government  that  would 
let  any  part  of  its  subjects  break  away  at  their  pleas 
ure  from  its  rule,  would  deserve  to  go  to  pieces.  If 
one  part  might  go,  another  part  might  go.  There 
would  be  no  nation  left/ 

4  But  how  could  you  help  it  ? '  I  asked. 

4 1  don't  know  whether  we  could  help  it/  he  said ; 
'  but  we  would  try/ 

4  You  do  not  mean,  that  it  would  come  to  fighting? ' 

4 1  do  not  think  they  would  be  such  fools.  I  hope 
we  are  supposing  a  very  unlikely  thing,  Miss  Ran 
dolph/ 

30* 


354  DAISY. 

I  hope,]  so.  But  that  impression  of  Southern  char- 
actor  troubled  me  yet.  Fighting !  I  looked  at  the 
peaceful  hills,  feeling  as  if  indeed  '  all  the  foundations 
of  the  earth '  would  be  '  out  of  course.' 

4  What  would  yo u  do  in  case  it  came  to  fighting?' 
said  my  neighbour.  The  words  startled  me  out  of  my 
meditations. 

4 1  could  not  do  anything.' 

4 1  beg  your  pardon.  Your  favour  —  your  counte 
nance,  would  do  much  ;  on  one  side  or  the  other.  You 
would  fight  —  in  effect  —  as  surely  as  I  should.' 

I  looked  up.  4  Not  against  you,'  I  said  ;  for  I  could 
not  bear  to  be  misunderstood. 

There  was  a  strange  sparkle  in  Mr.  Thorold's  eye ; 
but  those  flashes  of  light  came  and  went  so  like  flashes, 
that  I  could  not  always  tell  what  they  meant.  The 
tone  of  his  voice  however  I  knew  expressed  pleas 
ure. 

'  How  comes  that?  *  he  said.     4  You  are  Southern? ' 

'Do  I  look  it?'  I  asked. 

4  Pardon  me  —  yes.' 

4  How,  Mr.  Thorold?' 

4  You  must  excuse  me.  I  cannot  tell  you.  But  you 
are  South?' 

4  Yes,'  I  said.  4  At  least  all  my  friends  are  South 
ern.  I  was  born  there.' 

4  You  have  one  Northern  friend,'  said  Mr.  Thorold, 
as  we  rose  up  to  go  on.  He  saiql  it  with  meaning.  I 
looked  up  and  smiled.  There  was  a  smile  in  his  eyes, 
mixed  with  something  more.  I  think  cur  compact  of 
friendship  was  made  and  settled  then  and  at  once. 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  as  if  for  a  further  ratifica 
tion.  I  put  mine  in  it,  while  he  went  on,  — 


HOPS.  355 

'  How  comes  it  then  that  you  ta-ke  such  a  view  of 
such  a  question?' 

There  had  sprung  up  a  new  tone  in  our  intercourse, 
of  more  familiarity,  and  more  intimate  trust.  It  gave 
infinite  content  to  me  ;  and  I  went  on  to  answer,  tell 
ing  him  about  my  Northern  life.  Drawn  on,  from 
question  to  question,  I  detailed  at  length  my  Southern 
experience  also,  and  put  my  new  friend  in  possession 
not  only  of  my  opinions,  but  of  the  training  under 
which  they  had  been  formed.  My  hand,  I  remember, 
remained  in  his  while  I  talked,  as  if  he  had  been  my 
brother ;  till  he  suddenly  put  it  down  and  plunged  into 
the  bushes  for  a  bunch  of  wild  roses.  A  party  of 
walkers  came  round  an  angle  a  moment  after ;  and, 
waking  up  to  a  consciousness  of  our  surroundings,  we 
found,  or  /  did,  that  we  were  just  at  the  end  of  the 
rocky  walk,  where  we  must  mount  up  and  take  to  the 
plain. 

The  evening  was  falling  very  fair  over  plain  and  hill 
when  we  got  to  the  upper  level.  Mr.  Thorold  pro 
posed  that  I  should  go  and  see  the  camp,  which  I  liked 
very  much  to  do.  So  he  took  me  all  through  it,  and 
shewed  and  explained  all  sorts  of  things  about  the 
tents  and  the  way  of  life  they  lived  in  them.  He  said 
he  should  like  it  very  much,  if  he  only  had  more  room  ; 
but  three  or  four  in  one  little  tent  nine  feet  by  nine,  gave 
hardly,  as  he  said,  '  a  chance  to  a  fellow.'  The  tents 
and  the  camp  alleys  were  full  of  cadets,  loitering  about, 
or  talking,  or  busy  with  their  accoutrements  ;  here  and 
there  I  saw  an  officer.  Captain  Percival  bowed,  Cap 
tain  Lascelles  spoke.  I  looked  for  Preston,  but  I  could 
see  him  nowhere.  Then  Mr.  Thorold  brought  me  into 
his  own  tent,  introduced  one  or  two  cadets  who 


356  DAISY. 

were  loitering  there  and  who  immediately  took  them 
selves  away ;  and  made  me  sit  down  on  what  he  called 
a  '  locker.'  The  tent  curtains  were  rolled  tight  up,  as 
far  as  they  would  go,  and  so  were  the  curtains  of 
every  other  tent ;  most  beautiful  order  prevailed  every 
where  and  over  every  trifling  detail. 

1  Well/  said  Mr.  Thorold,  sitting  down  opposite  me 
on  a  candle-box  — '  how  do  you  think  you  would  like 
camp  life  ? ' 

'  The  tents  are  too  close  together/  I  said. 

He  laughed,  with  a  good  deal  of  amusement. 

4  That  will  do  ! '  he  said.  '  You  begin  by  knocking 
the  camp  to  pieces.' 

4  But  it  is  beautiful,'  I  went  on. 

4  And  not  comfortable.  Well  it  is  pretty  comfort 
able,'  he  said. 

4  How  do  you  do  when  it  storms  very  hard  —  at 
night?' 

4  Sleep.' 

4  Don't  you  ever  get  wet  ? ' 

4  That  makes  no  difference.' 

'  Sleep  in  the  wet ! '  said  I.  And  he  laughed  again 
at  me.  It  was  not  banter.  The  whole  look  and  air  of 
the  man  testified  to  a  thorough  soldierly,  manly  con 
tempt  of  little  things  —  of  all  things  that  might  come 
in  the  way  of  order  and  his  duty.  An  intrinsic  inde 
pendence  and  withal  control  of  circumstances,  in  so  far  as 
the  mind  can  control  them.  I  read  the  power  to  do  it. 
But  I  wondered  to  myself  if  he  never  got  homesick  in 
that  little  tent  and  full  camp.  It  would  not  do  to 
touch  the  question. 

4  Do  you  know  Preston  Gary  ? '  I  asked.  4  He  is  a 
cadet.' 


HUPS.  357 

*  I  know  him.' 

I  thought  the  tone  of  the  words,  careless  as  they 
were,  signified  little  value  for  the  knowledge. 
4 1  have  not  seen  him  an3Twhere,'  I  remarked. 
4  Do  you  want  to  see  him  ?     He  has  seen  you.' 

*  No,  he  cannot,'  I  said,  '  or  he  would  have  come  to 
speak  to  me.' 

*  He  would  if  he  could,'  replied  Mr.  Thorold,  —  *  no 
doubt ;  but  the  liberty  is  wanting.     He  is  on  guard. 
We  crossed  his  path  as  we  came  into  the  camp.' 

*  On   guard ! '   I  said.     4  Is   he  ?    Why,  he  was  on 
guard   only   a   day   or  two    ago.     Does   it   come    so 
often?' 

4  It  comes  pretty  often  in  Gary's  case,'  said  my  com 
panion. 

4  Does  it  ? '  I  said.     4  He  does  not  like  it.' 

4  No,'  said  Mr.  Thorold  merrily.  4It  is  not  a  fa 
vourite  amusement  in  most  cases.' 

4  Then  why  does  he  have  so  much  of  it?' 

4  Gary  is  not  fond  of  discipline.' 

I  guessed  this  might  be  true.  I  knew  enough  of 
Preston  for  that.  But  it  startled  me. 

4  Does  he  not  obey  the  regulations  ? '  I  asked  pres 
ently  in  a  lowered  tone. 

Mr.  Thorold  smiled.  4  He  is  a  friend  of  yours,  Miss 
Randolph?' 

4  Yes,'  I  said.     4  He  is  my  mother's  nephew.' 

4  Then  he  is  your  cousin  ? '  said  my  companion. 
Another  of  those  penetrative  glances  fell  on  me. 
They  were  peculiar  ;  they  flashed  upon  me,  or  through 
me,  as  keen  and  clear  as  the  flash  of  a  sabre  in  the 
sun  ;  and  out  of  eyes  in  which  a  sunlight  of  merriment 
or  benignity  was  even  then  glowing.  Both  glowed 


358  DAISY. 

upon  me  just  at  this  moment,  so  I  did  not  mind  the 
keen  investigation.  Indeed  I  never  minded  it.  I 
learned  to  know  it  as  one  of  Mr.  Thorold's  peculiari 
ties.  Now  Dr.  Sandford  had  a  good  eye  for  reading 
people,  but  it  never  flashed,  unless  under  strong  excite 
ment.  Mr.  Thorold's  were  dancing  and  flashing  and 
sparkling  with  fifty  things  by  turns ;  their  fund  of 
amusement  and  power  of  observation  were  the  first 
things  that  struck  me,  and  they  attracted  me  too. 

4  Then  he  is  your  cousin  ? ' 

4  Of  course,  he  is  my  cousin/ 

I  thought  Mr.  Thorold  seemed  a  little  bit  grave  and 
silent  for  a  moment ;  then  he  rose  up,  with  that  benign 
look  of  his  eyes  glowing  all  over  me,  and  told  me 
there  was  the  drum  for  parade.  '  Only  the  first  drum/ 
he  added  ;  so  I  need  not  be  in  a  hurry.  t  Would  I  go 
home  before  parade  ? ' 

I  thought  I  would.  If  Preston  was  pacing  up  and 
down  the  side  of  the  camp  ground,  I  thought  I  did  not 
want  to  see  him  nor  to  have  him  see  me ;  as  he  was 
there  for  what  I  called  disgrace.  Moreover  I  had  a 
secret  presentiment  of  a  breezy  discussion  with  him  the 
next  time  there  was  a  chance. 

And  I  was  not  disappointed.  The  next  day,  in  the 
afternoon  he  came  to  see  us.  Mrs.  Sandford  and  I 
were  sitting  on  the  piazza,  where  the  heat  of  an  exces 
sively  sultry  day  was  now  relieved  a  little  by  a  slender 
breeze  coming  out  of  the  north-west.  It  was  very  hot 
still.  Preston  sat  down  and  made  conversation  in, 
an  abstracted  way  for  a  little  while. 

4  We  did  not  see  you  at  the  hop  the  other  night,  Mr. 
Gary,'  Mrs.  Sandford  remarked. 

*  No.     Were  you  there  ? '  said  Preston. 


HOPS.  359 

4  Everybody  was  there  —  except  you/ 

4  And  Daisy  ?    Were  you  there,  Daisy  ? ' 

4  Certainly,'  Mrs.  Sandford  responded.  4  Everybody 
else  could  have  been  better  missed.' 

4 1  did  not  know  you  went  there,'  said  Preston,  in 
something  so  like  a  growl  that  Mrs.  Sandford  lifted 
her  eyes  to  look  at  him. 

4 1  do  not  wonder  you  are  jealous,'  she  said  com- 
posedty. 

*  Jealous  ! '  said  Preston,  with  growl  the  second. 

4  You  had  more  reason  than  you  knew.' 

Preston  grumbled  something  about  the  hops  being 
4  stupid  places.'  I  kept  carefully  still. 

4  Daisy,  did  you  go  ? ' 

I  looked  up  and  said  yes. 

1  Whom  did  you  dance  with  ? ' 

4  With  everybody,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford.  '  That  is, 
so  far  as  the  length  of  the  evening  made  it  possible. 
Blue  and  grey,  and  all  colours.' 

4 1  don't  want  you  to  dance  with  everybody,'  said 
Preston,  in  a  more  undertone  growl. 

4  There  is  no  way  to  prevent  it,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford, 
4  but  to  be  there  and  ask  her  yourself.' 

I  did  not  thank  Mrs.  Sandford  privately  for  this 
suggestion  ;  which  Preston  immediately  followed  up  by 
enquiring  4  if  we  were  going  to  the  hop  to-night  ? ' 

4  Certainly,'  Mrs.  Sandford  said. 

4  It's  too  confounded  hot ! ' 

4  Not  for  us  who  are  accustomed  to  the  climate,' 
Mrs.  Sandford  said  with  spirit. 

4  It's  a  bore  altogether,'  muttered  Preston.  c  Daisy, 
are  you  going  to-night  ? ' 

4 1  suppose  so.' 


<J60  DAISY. 

1  Well,  if  you  must  go,  you  may  as  well  dance  with 
me  as  with  anybody.  So  tell  anybody  else  that  you 
are  engaged.  I  will  take  care  of  you/ 

4  Don't  3Tou  wish  to  dance  with  anybody  except  me  ? ' 

4 1  do  not/  said  Preston  slowly.  4  As  I  said,  it  is 
too  hot.  I  consider  the  whole  thing  a  bore/ 

'  You  shall  not  be  bored  for  me,'  I  said.  '  I  refuse 
to  dance  with  you.  I  hope  I  shall  not  see  you  there 
at  all/ 

4  Daisy ! ' 

'Well?' 

4  Come  down 'and  take  a  little  walk  with  me/ 

4  You  said,  it  is  too  hot/ 

4  But  you  will  dance  ? ' 

4  You  will  not  dance/ 

4 1  want  to  speak  to  jfou,  Daisy/ 

'  You  may  speak,'  I  said.  I  did  not  want  to  hear 
him,  for  there  were  no  indications  of  anything  agreea 
ble  in  Preston's  manner. 

'  Daisy  ! '  he  said,  — - '  I  do  not  know  you/ 

4  You  used  to  know  her,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford  ;  4  that 
is  all/ 

4  Will  3rou  come  and  walk  with  me  ? '  said  Preston 
almost  angrily. 

4 1  do  not  think  it  would  be  pleasant/  I  said. 

4  You  were  walking  j^esterday  afternoon/ 

4  Yes/ 

4  Come  and  walk  up  and  down  the  piazza,  anyhow. 
You  can  do  that/ 

I  could,  and  did  not  refuse.  He  chose  the  sunny 
western  side,  because  no  one  was  there.  However,  the 
sun's  rays  were  obscured  under  a  thick  haze  and  had 
been  all  day. 


HOPS.  361 

4  Whom  were  you  with  ? '  Preston  enquired  as  soon 
as  we  were  out  of  earshot. 

*  Do  you  mean  yesterday  ? ' 

4  Of  course  I  mean  yesterday  !  I  saw  you  cross  in 
to  the  camp.  With  whom  were  you  going  there  ? ' 

4  Why  did  you  not  come  to  speak  to  me  ? '  I  said. 

'  I  was  on  duty.     I  could  not.' 

4 1  did  not  see  you  anywhere.' 

'  I  was  on  guard.  You  crossed  my  path  not  ten 
feet  off.' 

1  Then  yon  must  know  whom  I  was  with,  Preston,'  I 
said  looking  at  him. 

4  You  don't  know  —  that  is  the  thing.  It  was  that 
fellow  Thorold.' 

4  How  came  you  to  be  on  guard  again  so  soon?  You 
were  on  guard  just  a  day  or  two  before.' 

4  That  is  all  right  enough.  It  is  about  military 
things,  that  you  do  not  understand.  It  is  all  right 
enough,  except  these  confounded  Yankees.  And  Thor 
old  is  another.' 

4  Who  is  one  ? '  I  said  laughing.  4  You  say  he  is 
another.1 

4  Blunt  is  one.' 

4 1  like  Major  Blunt.' 

4  Daisy,'  said  Preston,  stopping  short,  4  you  ought  to 
be  with  your  mother.  There  is  nobody  to  take  care  of 
you  here.  How  came  you  to  know  that  Thorold?' 

4  He  was  introduced  to  me.  What  is  the  matter 
with  him?' 

4  You  ought  not  to  be  going  about  with  him.  He  is 
a  regular  Yankee,  I  tell  you.' 

4  What  does  that  mean  ? '  I  said.     '  You  speak  it  as 
if  you  meant  something  very  objectionable.' 
31 


362  DAISY. 

4 1  do.  They  are  a  cowardly  set  of  tailors.  They 
have  no  idea  what  a  gentleman  means,  not  one  of 
them,  unless  they  have  caught  the  idea  from  a  South 
erner.  I  don't  want  you  to  have  an}- thing  to  do  with 
them,  Daisy.  You  must  not  dance  with  them,  and  you 
must  not  be  seen  with  this  Thorold.  Promise  ine  you 
will  not/ 

4  Dr.  Sandford  is  another/  I  said. 

4 1  can't  help  Dr.  Sandford.  He  is  your  guardian. 
You  must  not  go  again  with  Thorold ! ' 

4  Did  3rou  ever  know  him  cowardly  ?  '  I  asked. 

I  was  sure  that  Preston  coloured  ;  whether  with  any 
feeling  beside  anger  I  could  not  make  out ;  but  the 
anger  was  certain. 

4  What  do  you  know  about  it?'  he  asked. 

4  What  do  you?'  I  rejoined.  But  Preston  changed 
more  and  more. 

4  Daisy,  promise  me  you  will  not  have  anything  to 
do  with  these  fellows.  You  are  too  good  to  dance 
with  them.  There  are  plenty  of  Southern  people  here 
now,  and  lots  of  Southern  cadets.' 

4  Mr.  Caxton  is  one,'  I  said.     4 1  don't  like  him.' 

4  He  is  of  an  excellent  Georgia  family,'  said  Preston. 

4 1  cannot  help  that.  He  is  neither  gentlemanly  in 
his  habits,  nor  true  in  his  speech.' 

Preston  hereupon  broke  out  into  an  nntempered 
abuse  of  Northern  things  in  general  and  Northern 
cadets  in  particular,  mingled  with  a  repetition  of  his 
demands  upon  me.  At  length  I  turned  from  him. 

4  This  is  very  tiresome,  Preston,'  I  said ;  4  and  this* 
side  of  the  house  is  very  warm.  Of  course  I  must 
dance  with  whoever  asks  me.' 


HOPS.  363 

*  Well,  I  have  asked  you  for  this  evening/  he  said 
following  me. 

4  You  are  not  to  go,'  I  said.  4 1  shall  not  dance  with 
you  once,'  and  I  took  my  former  place  by  Mrs.  Sand- 
ford.  Preston  fumed  ;  declared  I  was  just  like  a  piece 
of  marble ;  and  went  away.  I  did  not  feel  quite  so 
impassive  as  he  said  I  looked. 

4  What  are  you  going  to  wear  to-night,  Daisy?'  Mrs. 
Sandford  asked  presentty. 

1 1  don't  know,  ma'am.' 

4  But  you  must  know  soon,  my  dear.  Have  you 
agreed  to  give  your  cousin  half  the  evening? ' 

4  No,  ma'am  —  I  could  not  —  I  am  engaged  for  every 
dance,  and  more.' 

4  More  ! '  said  Mrs.  Sandford. 

4  Yes  ma'am  —  for  the  next  time.' 

4  Preston  has  reason  ! '  she  said  laughing.  4  But  I 
think,  Dais}7,  Grant  will  be  the  most  jealous  of  all. 
Do  him  good.  What  will  become  of  his  sciences  and 
his  microscope  now  ? ' 

4  Why  I  shall  be  just  as  ready  for  them,'  I  said. 

Mrs.  Sandford  shook  her  head.  '  You  will  find  the 
hops  will  take  more  than  that,'  she  said.  *  But  now, 
Daisy,  think  what  you  will  wear ;  for  we  must  go  soon 
and  get  ready.' 

I  did  not  want  to  think  about  it.  I  expected  of 
course  to  put  on  the  same  dress  I  had  worn  the  last 
time.  But  Mrs.  Sandford  objected  very  strongly. 

4  You  must  not  wear  the  same  thing  twice  running,' 
she  said  ;  '  not  if  you  can  help  it.' 

I  could  not  imagine  why  not. 

4  It  is  quite  nice  enough,'  I  urged.  4  It  is  scarcely 
the  least  mussed  in  the  world.' 


364  DAISY. 

4  People  will  think  you  have  not  another,  my  dear.' 

4  What  matter  would  that  be  ? '  I  said,  wholly 
puzzled. 

*  Now  my  dear  Daisy ! '  said  Mrs.  Sandford  half 
laughing,  — 4  you  are  the  veriest  Daisy  in  the  world, 
and  do  not  understand  the  world  that  you  grow  in. 
No  matter  ;  just  oblige  me,  and  put  on  something  else 
to-night.  What  have  you  got  ? ' 

I  had  other  dresses  like  the  rejected  one.  I  had  an 
other  still,  white  like  them,  but  of  different  make  and 
quality.  I  hardly  knew  what  it  was,  for  I  had  never 
worn  it ;  to  please  Mrs.  Sandford  I  took  it  out  now. 
She  was  pleased.  It  was,  like  the  rest,  out  of  the 
store  my  mother  had  sent  me  ;  a  soft  India  muslin,  of 
beautiful  texture,  made  and  trimmed  as  my  mother  and 
a  Parisian  artist  could  manage  between  them.  But  no 
Parisian  artist  could  know  better  than  my  mother  how 
a  thing  should  be. 

4  That  will  do ! '  said  Mrs.  Sandford  approvingly. 
1  Dear  me,  what  lace  !  What  lace  you  Southern  ladies 
do  wear,  to  be  sure  !  A  blue  sash,  now,  Daisy?  * 

4  No  ma'am,  I  think  not.' 

4  Rose?     It  must  be  blue  or  rose.' 

But  I  thought  differently  and  kept  it  white. 

4  No  colour?'  said  Mrs.  Sandford.  4  None  at  all? 
Then  just  let  me  put  this  little  bit  of  green  in  your 
hair.' 

As  I  stood  before  the  glass  and  she  tried  various 
positions  for  some  geranium  leaves,  I  felt  that  would 
not  do  either.  Any  dressing  of  my  head  would  com- 
monize  the  whole  thing.  I  watched  her  fingers  and 
the  geranium  leaves  going  from  one  side  of  my  head 
to  the  other,  watched  how  every  touch  changed  the 


HOPS.  365 

tone  of  my  costume,  and  felt  that  I  could  not  suffer  it ; 
and  then  it  suddenly  occurred  to  me  that  I,  who  a  little 
while  before  had  not  cared  about  my  dress  for  the 
evening,  now  did  care,  and  that  determinedly.  I 
knew  I  would  wear  no  geranium  leaves,  not  even  to 
please  Mrs.  Sandford.  And  for  the  first  time  a  ques 
tion  stole  into  my  mind,  what  was  I,  Daisy,  doing? 
But  then  I  said  to  myself,  that  the  dress  without  this 
head  adorning  was  perfect  in  its  elegance  ;  it  suited 
me  ;  and  it  was  not  wrong  to  like  beauty  nor  to  dislike 
things  in  bad  taste.  Perhaps  I  was  too  handsomely 
dressed,  but  I  could  not  change  that  now.  Another 
time  I  would  go  back  to  my  embroidered  muslins,  and 
stay  there. 

'  I  like  it  better  without  anything,  Mrs.  Sandford,'  I 
said,  removing  her  green  decorations  and  turning  away 
from  the  glass.  Mrs.  Sandford  sighed,  but  said  '  it 
would  do  without  them,'  and  away  we  went. 

I  can  see  it  all  again  ;  I  can  almost  feel  the  omnibus 
roll  with  me  over  the  plain,  that  still  sultry  night. 
All  those  nights  were  sultry.  Then  as  we  came  near 
the  Academic  Building,  I  could  see  the  lights  in  the 
upper  windows ;  here  and  there  an  officer  sitting  in  a 
window-sill,  and  the  figures  of  cadets  passing  back  and 
forth.  Then  we  mounted  to  the  hall  above,  filled  with 
cadets  in  a  little  crowd,  and  words  of  recognition  came, 
and  Preston  meeting  us  almost  before  we  got  out  of  the 
dressing  room. 

4  Daisy,  you  dance  with  me  ? ' 
4 1  am  engaged,  Preston,  for  the  first  dance.' 
4  Already  !     The  second,  then,  and  all  the  others?' 
4  I  am  engaged  '  —  I  repeated,  and  left  him,  for  Mr. 
Thorold  was  at  my  side. 
31* 


366  DAISY. 

I  forgot  Preston  the  next  minute.  It  was  easy  to 
forget  him,  for  all  the  first  half  of  the  evening  I  was 
honestly  happy  in  dancing.  In  talking  too,  whenever 
Thorold  was  my  partner ;  other  people's  talk  was 
very  tiresome.  They  went  over  the  platitudes  of  the 
day  ;  or  they  started  subjects  of  interest  that  were  not 
interesting  to  me.  Bits  of  gossip  —  discussions  of 
fashionable  amusements  with  which  I  could  have  noth 
ing  to  do  ;  frivolous  badinage,  which  was  of  all  things 
most  distasteful  to  me.  Yet  amid  it  all,  I  believe, 
there  was  a  subtle  incense  of  admiration  which  by  de 
grees  and  insensibly  found  its  way  to  my  senses.  But 
I  had  two  dances  with  Thorold,  and  at  those  times  I 
was  myself  and  enjoyed  unalloyed  pleasure.  And  so  I 
thought  did  he. 

I  saw  Preston,  when  now  and  then  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  him,  looking  excessively  glum.  Midway  in  the 
evening  it  happened  that  I  was  standing  beside  him 
for  a  few  moments,  waiting  for  my  next  partner. 

4  You  are  dancing  with  nobody  but  that  man  whom  I 
hate  ! '  he  grumbled.  '  Who  is  it  now?  * 

1  Capt.  Vaux.' 

4  Will  you  dance  with  me  after  that?  ' 

4  I  cannot,  Preston.  I  must  dance  with  Major 
Banks/ 

4  You  seem  to  like  it  pretty  well,'  he  growled. 

4  No  wonder,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford.  '  You  were  quite 
right  about  the  geranium  leaves,  Daisy ;  you  do  not 
want  them.  You  do  not  want  anything,  my  dear/  she 
whispered. 

At  this  instant  a  fresh  party  entered  the  roomv  just 
as  my  partner  came  up  to  claim  me. 


3C7 


*  There  are  some  handsome  girls,'  said  the  captain. 
«  Two  of  them,  really  !  ' 

'  People  from  Cozzens's,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford,  '  who 
think  the  cadets  keep  New  York  hours.' 

It  was  Faustina  St.  Clair  and  Mary  Lansing,  with 
their  friends  and  guardians,  I  don't  know  whom.  And 
as  I  moved  to  take  my  place  in  the  dance,  I  was  pres 
ently  confronted  by  my  school  adversary  and  the  part 
ner  she  had  immediately  found.  The  greeting  was 
very  slight  and  cool  on  her  side. 

'  Excessively  handsome,'  whispered  the  captain.  '  A 
friend  of  yours  ?  ' 

*  A  schoolfellow,'  I  said. 

4  Must  be  a  pleasant  thing,  I  declare,  to  have  such 
handsome  schoolfellows,'  said  the  captain.  c  Beauty  is 
a  great  thing,  isn't  it?  I  wonder  sometimes  how  the 
ladies  can  make  up  their  minds  to  take  up  with  such 
great  rough  ugly  fellows  as  we  are,  for  a  set.  How  do 
you  think  it  is?' 

I  thought  it  was  wonderful  too,  when  they  were  like 
him.  But  I  said  nothing. 

*  Dress  too,'  said  the  captain.     i  Now  look  at  our 
dress  !     Straight  and  square  and  stiff  ;  and  no  variety 
in  it.     While  our  eyes  are  delighted  on  the  other  side 
with  soft  draperies  and  fine  colours,  and  combinations 
of  grace  and  elegance,  that  are  fit  to  put  a  man  in 
Elysium  !  ' 

'  Did  you  notice  the  colour  of  the  haze  in  the  west, 
this  evening  at  sunset?  '  I  asked. 

'Haze?  No,  really.  I  didn't  know  there  was  any 
haze,  really,  except  in  my  head.  I  get  hazy  amidst 
these  combinations.  Seriously,  Miss  Randolph,  what 
do  you  think  of  a  soldier's  life  ?  ' 


368  DAISY. 

'  It  depends  on  who  the  soldier  is/  I  said. 

'  Cool,  really  ! '  said  the  captain.  '  Cool !  Ha ! 
ha!—' 

And  he  laughed,  till  I  wondered  what  I  could  have 
said  to  amuse  him  so  much. 

4  Then  you  have  learned  to  individualize  soldiers 
already? '  was  his  next  question,  put  with  a  look  which 
seemed  to  me  inquisitive  and  impertinent.  I  did  not 
know  how  to  answer  it,  and  left  it  unanswered  ;  and  the 
captain  and  I  had  the  rest  of  our  dance  out  in  silence. 
Meanwhile,  I  could  not  help  watching  Faustina.  She 
was  so  very  handsome,  with  a  marked,  dashing  sort  of 
beauty  that  I  saw  was  prodigiously  admired.  She 
took  no  notice  of  me,  and  barely  touched  the  tips  of 
my  fingers  with  her  glove  as  we  passed  in  the  dance. 

As  he  was  leading  me  back  to  Mrs.  Sandford,  the 
captain  stooped  his  head  to  mine.  '  Forgive  me '  —  he 
whispered.  '  So  much  gentleness  cannot  bear  revenge. 
I  am  only  a  soldier/ 

'Forgive  you  what,  sir?'  I  asked.  And  he  drew 
up  his  head  again,  half  laughed,  muttered  that  I  was 
worse  than  grape  or  round  shot,  and  handed  me  over 
to  my  guardian. 

'My  dear  Daisy/  said  Mrs.  Sandford,  '  if  you  were 
not  so  sweet  as  you  are,  you  would  be  a  queen.  There, 
now  !  do  not  lift  up  your  grey  eyes  at  me  like  that,  or 
I  shall  make  you  a  reverence  the  first  thing  I  do,  and 
fancy  that  I  am  one  of  your  dames  d'honneur.  Who 
is  next?  Major  Banks?  Take  care,  Daisy,  or  you'll 
do  some  mischief.' 

I  had  not  time  to  think  about  her  words  ;  the  dances 
went  forward,  and  I  took  my  part  in  them  with  great 
pleasure  until  the  tattoo  summons  broke  us  up.  In- 


HOPS.  369 

deed  my  pleasure  lasted  until  we  got  home  to  the  hotel 
and  I  heard  Mrs.  Sandford  saying  in  an  aside  to  her 
husband,  amid  some  rejoicing  over  me,  — ;  I  was 
dreadfully  afraid  she  wouldn't  go.'  The  words,  or 
something  in  them,  gave  me  a  check.  However,  I  had 
too  many  exciting  things  to  think  of  to  take  it  up  just 
then ;  and  my  brain  was  in  a  whirl  of  pleasure  till  I 
went  to  sleep. 


370  DAISY. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

OBEYING   ORDERS. 

As  1  roomed  with  Mrs.  Sandford,  of  course  I  had 
very  scant  opportunities  of  being  by  myself.  In  the 
delightful  early  mornings  I  was  accustomed  to  take  my 
book  therefore  and  go  down  where  I  had  gone  the  first 
morning,  to  the  rocks  by  the  river's  side.  Nobody 
came  by  that  way  at  so  early  an  hour ;  I  had  been  seen 
by  nobody  except  that  one  time,  when  Thorold  and 
his  companion  passed  me ;  and  I  felt  quite  safe.  It 
was  pleasanter  down  there  than  can  be  told.  However 
sultry  the  air  on  the  heights  above,  so  near  the  water 
there  was  always  a  savour  of  freshness  ;  or  else  I  fan 
cied  it,  in  the  hearing  of  the  soft  liquid  murmur  of  the 
little  wavelets  against  the  shore.  But  sometimes  it 
was  so  still  I  could  hear  nothing  of  that ;  then  birds 
and  insects,  or  the  faint  notes  of  a  bugle  call,  were  the 
only  things  to  break  the  absolute  hush  ;  and  the  light 
was  my  refreshment,  on  river  and  tree  and  rock  and 
hill ;  one  day  sharp  and  clear,'  another  day  fairyland- 
like  and  dreamy  through  golden  mist. 

It  was  a  good  retiring  place  in  any  case,  so  early  in 
the  day.  I  could  read  and  pray  there  better  than  in  a 
room,  I  thought.  The  next  morning  after  my  second 
dancing  party,  I  was  there  as  usual.  It  was  a  sultry 
July  morning,  the  yellow  light  in  the  haze  on  the  hills 


OBEYING   ORDERS.  371 

threatening  a  very  hot  day.  I  was  very  happy,  as 
usual ;  but  somehow  my  thoughts  went  roaming  off 
into  the  yellow  haze  as  if  the  landscape  had  been  my 
life,  and  I  were  trying  to  pick  out  points  of  light  here 
and  there,  and  sporting  on  the  ga}r  surface.  I  danced 
nty  dances  over  again  in  the  flow  of  the  river ;  heard 
soft  words  of  kindness  or  admiration  in  the  song  of 
the  birds ;  wandered  awa}^  in  mazes  of  speculative 
fancy  among  the  thickets  of  tree  stems  and  under 
brush.  The  sweet  wonderful  note  of  a  wood  thrush, 
somewhere  far  out  of  sight,  assured  me,  what  every 
thing  conspired  to  assure  me,  that  I  was  certainly  in 
fairyland,  not  on  the  common  earth.  But  I  could  not 
somehow  get  on  with  my  Bible.  Again  and  again  I 
began  to  read ;  then  a  bird  or  a  bough  or  a  ripple 
would  catch  my  attention,  and  straightway  I  was  off 
on  a  flight  of  fanc}^  or  memory,  dancing  over  again  my 
dances  with  Mr.  Thorold,  dwelling  upon  the  impression 
of  his  figure  and  dress,  and  the  fascination  of  his  bril 
liant,  changing  hazel  eyes  ;  or  recalling  Captain  Vaux's 
or  somebody  else's  insipid  words  and  looks,  or  Faus 
tina  St.  Glair's  manner  of  ill  will ;  or  on  the  other 
hand  giving  a  passing  thought  to  the  question,  how  I 
should  dress  the  next  hop  night.  After  a  long  wan 
dering  I  would  come  back  and  begin  at  my  Bible 
again,  but  only  for  a  little ;  my  fancy  could  not  be 
held  to  it ;  and  a  few  scarcely  read  verses  and  a  few 
half-uttered  petitions  were  all  I  had  accomplished  be 
fore  the  clangour  of  the  hotel  gong  sounding  down 
even  to  me,  warned  me  that  my  time  was  gone.  And 
the  note  of  the  wood  thrush  as  I  slowly  mounted  the 
path,  struck  reproachfully  and  rebukingly  upon  the 
ear  of  my  conscience. 


372  DAISY. 

How  had  this  come  about?  I  mused  as  I  went  up 
the  hill.  What  was  the  matter  ?  What  had  bewitched 
me?  No  pleasure  in  my  Bible ;  no  time  for  prayer; 
and  only  the  motion  of  feet  moving  to  music,  only  the 
flutter  of  lace  and  muslin,  and  the  flashing  of  hazel 
eyes,  filling  my  brain?  What  was  wrong?  Nay, 
something!  And  why  had  Mrs.  Sandford  'feared'  I 
would  not  go  to  the  hops  ?  Were  they  not  places  for 
Christians  to  go  to?  What  earthly  harm?  Only 
pleasure.  But  what  if,  pleasure  that  marred  better 
pleasure  —  that  interrupted  duty?  And  why  was  I 
ruminating  on  styles  and  colours,  and  proposing  to 
put  on  another  dress  that  should  be  more  becoming  the 
next  time  ?  and  thinking  that  it  would  be  well  it  should 
be  a  contrast  to  Faustina  St.  Clair?  What !  entering 
the  lists  with  her,  on  her  own  field  ?  No,  no  ;  I  could 
not  think  it.  But  what  then?  And  what  was  this 
little  flutter  at  my  heart  about  gentlemen's  words  and 
looks  of  homage  and  liking?  What  could  it  be  to  me, 
that  such  people  as  Captain  Vaux  or  Captain  Lascelles 
liked  me?  Captain  Lascelles,  who  when  he  was  not 
dancing  or  flirting  was  pleased  to  curl  himself  up  on 
one  of  the  window  seats  like  a  monkey  and  take  a 
grinning  survey  of  what  went  on.  Was  I  flattered  by 
such  admiration  as  his  ?  —  or  any  admiration  ?  I  liked 
to  have  Mr.  Thorold  like  me  ;  yes,  I  was  not  wrong  to 
be  pleased  with  that ;  besides,  that  was  liking ;  not 
empty  compliments.  But  for  my  lace  and  my  India 
muslin  and  my  '  Southern  elegance '  —  I  knew  Colonel 
Walrus  meant  me  when  he  talked  about  that,  —  Was  I 
thinking  of  admiration  for  such  things  as  these,  and 
thinking  so  much,  that  my  Bible  reading  had  lost  its 


OBEYING    ORDERS.  373 

charm?    What  was 'in  fault?     Not  the  hops?    They 
were  too  pleasant.     It  could  not  be  the  hops. 

I  mounted  the  hill  slowly  and  in  a  great  maze, 
getting  more  and  more  troubled.  I  entering  the 
lists  with  Faustina  St.  Clair,  going  in  her  ways?  I 
knew  these  were  her  ways.  I  had  heard  scraps 
enough  of  conversation  among  the  girls  about  these 
things,  which  I  then  did  not  understand.  And  another 
word  came  therewith  into  my  mind,  powerful  once  be 
fore  and  powerful  now  to  disentangle  the  false  from 
the  true.  '  The  world  knoweth  us  not/  Did  it  not 
know  me,  last  night  ?  Would  it  not,  if  I  went  there 
again  ?  But  the  hops  were  so  pleasant ! 

It  almost  excites  a  smile  in  me  now  to  think  how 
pleasant  they  were.  I  was  only  sixteen.  I  had  seen 
no  dancing  parties  other  than  the  little  school  assem 
blages  at  Mme.  Ricard's  ;  and  I  was  fond  of  the  amuse 
ment  even  there.  Here,  it  seemed  to  me  then  as  if  all 
prettiness  and  pleasantness  that  could  come  together 
in  such  a  gathering,  met,  in  the  dancing  room  of  the 
cadets.  I  think  not  very  differently  now,  as  to  that 
point.  The  pretty  accompaniments  of  uniform ;  the 
simple  style  and  hours ;  the  hearty  enjoyment  of  the 
occasion  ;  were  all  a  little  unlike  what  is  found  at  other 
places.  And  to  me,  and  to  increase  my  difficulty, 
came  a  crowning  pleasure  ;  I  met  Thorold  there.  To 
have  a  good  dance  and  talk  with  him  was  worth  cer 
tainly  all  the  rest.  Must  I  give  it  up  ? 

I  could  not  bear  to  think  so,  but  the  difficulty  helped 
to  prick  my  conscience.  There  had  been  only  two 
Vops,  and  I  was  so  enthralled  already.  How  would  it 
be  if  I  had  been  to  a  dozen  ?  and  where  might  it  end  ? 
the  word  stands, —  'the  world  knoweth  us  not.9 
32 


374  DAISY. 

It  must  not  know  me,  Daisy  Randolph,  as  in  any  sort 
belonging  to  it  or  mixed  up  with  it ;  and  therefore  — 
Daisy  Randolph  must  go  to  the  hop  no  more.  I  felt 
the  certainty  of  the  decision  growing  over  me,  even 
while  I  was  appalled  by  it.  I  staved  off  consideration 
all  that  day. 

In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Thorold  came  and  took  me  to 
see  the  laboratory,  and  explained  for  me  a  number  of 
curious  things.  I  should  have  had  great  enjoyment, 
if  Preston  had  not  taken  it  into  his  head,  unasked,  to 
go  along  ;  being  unluckily  with  me  when  Thorold  came. 
He  was  a  thorough  marplot ;  sa}7ing  nothing  of  conse 
quence  himself,  and  only  keeping  a  grim  watch  —  I 
could  take  it  as  nothing  else  —  of  everything  we  said 
and  did.  Consequently,  Mr.  Thorold's  lecture  was  very 
proper  and  grave,  instead  of  being  full  of  fun  and 
amusement  as  well  as  instruction.  I  took  Preston  to 
task  about  it  when  we  got  home. 

'  You  hinder  pleasure  when  you  go  in  that  mood,'  I 
told  him. 

'What  mood?' 

'  You  know.  You  never  are  pleasant  when  Mr. 
Thorold  is  present  or  when  he  is  mentioned.' 

4  He  is  a  cowardly  Yankee ! '  was  Preston's  re 
joinder. 

4  Cowardly,  Gary  ?  '  —  said  somebody  near ;  and  I 
saw  a  cadet  whom  I  did  not  know,  who  came  from  be 
hind  us  and  passed  by  on  the  piazza.  He  did  not  look 
at  us,  and  staid  not  for  any  more  words ;  but  turning 
to  Preston,  I  was  surprised  to  see  his  face  violently 
flushed. 

4  Who  was  that?' 

4  No  matter  —  impertinence  ! '  he  muttered. 


OBEYING   ORDERS.  375 

*  But  what  is  the  matter?  and  what  did  he  mean? ' 

4  He  is  one  of  Thorold's  set,'  said  Preston  ;  l  and  I 
tell  you,  Daisy,  3rou  shall  not  have  anything  to  do 
vdth  them.  Aunt  Felicia  would  never  allow  it.  She 
ivould  not  look  at  them  herself.  You  shall  not  have 
ajtything  more  to  do  with  them.' 

How  could  I,  if  I  was  going  no  more  to  the  hops  ? 
How  could  I  see  Thorold,  or  anybody?  The  thought 
struck  to  my  heart,  and  I  made  no  answer.  Company 
however  kept  me  from  considering  the  matter  all  the 
evening. 

But  the  next  day,  early,  I  was  in  my  usual  place ; 
near  the  river  side,  among  the  rocks,  with  my  Bible ; 
and  I  resolved  to  settle  the  question  there  as  it  ought 
to  be  settled.  I  was  resolved  ;  but  to  do  what  I  had 
resolved,  was  difficult.  For  I  wanted  to  go  to  the  hop 
that  evening  very  much.  Visions  of  it  floated  before 
me ;  snatches  of  music  and  gleams  of  light ;  figures 
moving  in  harmony  ;  words,  and  looks  ;  and  —  my  own 
white  little  person.  All  these  made  a  kind  of  quaint 
mosaic  with  flashes  of  light  on  the  river,  and  broad 
warm  bands  of  sunshine  on  the  hills,  and  the  foliage  of 
trees  and  bushes,  and  the  grey  lichened  rocks  at  my 
foot.  It  was  confusing  ;  but  I  turned  over  the  leaves 
of  my  Bible  to  see  if  I  could  find  some  undoubted  di 
rection  as  to  what  I  ought  to  do,  or  perhaps  rather 
some  clear  permission  for  what  I  wished  to  do.  I  could 
not  remember  that  the  Bible  said  anything  about  dan 
cing,  pro  or  con ;  dancing,  I  thought,  could  not  be 
wrong ;  but  this  confusion  in  my  mind  was  not  right. 
I  fluttered  over  my  leaves  a  good  while  with  no  help ; 
than  I  thought  I  might  as  well  take  a  chapter  some 
where  and  study  it  through.  The  whole  chapter,  it 


376  DAISY. 

was  the  third  of  Colossians,  did  not  seem  to  me  to  go 
favourably  for  my  pleasure  ;  but  the  seventeenth  verse 
brought  me  to  a  point,  — '  Whatsoever  ye  do  in  word 
or  deed,  do  all  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus.' 

There  was  no  loophole  here  for  excuses  or  getting 
off,  4  WJiatsoever  ye  do.'  Did  I  wish  it  otherwise?  No,  I 
did  not.  I  was  content  with  the  terms  of  service  ;  but 
now  about  dancing,  or  rather  the  dancing  party  ?  '  In 
the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus.'  Could  I  go  there  in  that 
name?  as  the  servant  of  my  Master,  busy  about  his 
work,  or  taking  pleasure  that  He  had  given  me  to  take  ? 
That  was  the  question.  And  all  my  visions  of  gay 
words  and  gay  scenes,  all  the  flutter  of  pleased  vanity 
and  the  hope  of  it,  rose  up  and  answered  me.  By  that 
thought  of  the  pretty  dress  I  would  wear,  I  knew  I 
should  not  wear  it  '  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus  ; ' 
for  my  thought  was  of  honour  to  myself,  not  to  him. 
By  the  fear  which  darted  into  my  head,  that  Mr.  Tho- 
rold  might  dance  with  Faustina  if  I  were  not  there,  I 
knew  I  should  not  go  '  in  the  name  of  the  Lord,'  if  I 
went ;  but  to  gratify  my  own  selfish  pride  and  emula 
tion.  By  the  confusion  which  had  reigned  in  my  brain 
these  two  days,  by  the  tastelessness  of  my  Bible,  by 
the  unaptness  for  prayer,  I  knew,  I  knew,  I  could  not 
go  in  the  name  of  my  Lord,  for  it  would  be  to  unfit 
myself  for  his  work. 

The  matter  was  settled  in  one  way  ;  but  the  pain  of 
it  took  longer  to  come  to  an  end.  It  is  sorrowful  to 
me  to  remember  now  how  hard  it  was  to  get  over. 
My  vanity  I  was  heartily  ashamed  of,  and  bade  thai 
shew  its  head  no  more  ;  my  emulation  of  Faustina  St. 
Clair  gave  me  some  horror ;  but  the  pleasure,  —  the 
real  honest  pleasure,  of  the  scene  and  the  music  and 


OBEYING    ORDERS.  377 

the  excitement  and  the  dancing  and  the  seeing  people, 
—  all  that,  I  did  not  let  go  forever  without  a  hard 
time  of  sorrow  and  some  tears.  It  was  not  a  struggle, 
for  I  gave  that  up  at  once  ;  only  I  had  to  fight  pain.  It 
was  one  of  the  hardest  things  I  ever  did  in  my  life. 
And  the  worst  of  all  and  the  most  incurable  was,  I 
should  miss  seeing  Mr.  Thorold.  One  or  two  more 
walks,  possibly,  I  might  have  with  him  ;  but  those 
long,  short,  evenings  of  seeing  and  talking  and  danc 
ing- 
Mrs.  Sandford  argued,  coaxed,  and  rallied  me  ;  and 
then  said,  if  I  would  not  go,  she  should  not ;  and  she 
did  not.  That  evening  we  spent  at  home  together,  and 
alone  ;  for  everybody  else  had  drifted  over  to  the  hop. 
I  suppose  Mrs.  Sandford  found  it  dull ;  for  the  next 
hop  night  she  changed  her  mind  and  left  me.  I  had 
rather  a  sorrowful  evening.  Dr.  Sandford  had  not 
come  back  from  the  mountains  ;  indeed  I  did  not  wish 
for  him  ;  and  Thorold  had  not  been  near  us  for  several 
days.  My  fairyland  was  getting  disenchanted  a  little 
bit.  But  I  was  quite  sure  I  had  done  right. 

The  next  morning  I  had  hardly  been  three  minutes 
on  my  rock  by  the  river,  when  Mr.  Thorold  came  round 
the  turn  of  the  walk  and  took  a  seat  beside  me. 

4  How  do  you  do  ? '  said  he,  stretching  out  his  hand. 
I  put  mine  in  it. 

4  What  has  become  of  my  friend,  this  seven  years?' 

4 1  am  here  — '  I  said. 

4 1  see  you.  But  why  have  I  not  seen  you,  all  this 
while?* 

4 1  supposed  you  had  been  busy,'  I  answered. 

4  Busy  !  Of  course  I  have,  or  I  should  have  been 
here  asking  questions.  I  was  not  too  busy  to  dance 
32* 


378  DAISY. 

with  you;  and  I  was  promised — how  many  dances? 
"Where  have  you  been?  ' 

4 1  have  been  at  home/ 

'Why?' 

Would  Mr.  Thorold  understand  me  ?  Mrs.  Sandford 
did  not.  My  own  mother  never  did.  I  hesitated,  and 
he  repeated  his  question,  and  those  hazel  eyes  were 
sparkling  all  sorts  of  queries  around  me. 

4 1  have  given  up  going  to  the  hops,'  I  said. 

'  Given  up  ?  Do  you  mean,  you  don't  mean,  that  you 
are  never  coming  any  more  ?  ' 

4 1  am  not  coming  any  more.' 

'  Don't  you  sometimes  change  your  decisions? ' 

4 1  suppose  I  do,'  I  answered  ;  '  but  not  this  one/ 

4 1  am  in  a  great  puzzle,'  he  said.  4  And  very  sorry. 
Aren't  you  going  to  be  so  good  as  to  give  me  some 
clue  to  this  mystery?  Did  you  find  the  hops  so  dull?' 

And  he  looked  very  serious  indeed. 

4  O  no  !  — '  I  said.  4 1  liked  them  very  much  —  I 
enjoyed  them  very  much.  I  am  sorry  to  stay  away/ 

4  Then  you  will  not  stay  away  very  long/ 

4  Yes  —  I  shall/ 

4  Why?  '  —  he  asked  again,  with  a  little  sort  of  im 
perative  curiosity  which  was  somehow  very  pleasant  to 
me. 

4 1  do  not  think  it  is  right  for  me  to  go,'  I  said. 
Then,  seeing  grave  astonishment  and  great  mystifica 
tion  in  his  face,  I  added,  4 1  am  a  Christian,  Mr.  Tho 
rold/ 

4  A  Christian !  '  he  cried,  with  flashes  of  light  and 
shadow  crossing  his  brow.  4  Is  that  it  ? ' 

4  That  is  it,'  I  a^ented. 


OBEYING    ORDERS.  379 

1  But  my  dear  Miss  Randolph  —  3Tou  know  we  are 
friends?' 

4  Yes,'  I  said  smiling  and  glad  that  he  had  not 
forgotten  it. 

4  Then  we  may  talk  about  what  we  like.  Christians 
go  to  hops.' 

I  looked  at  him  without  answering. 

'  Don't  you  know  they  do  ?  ' 

4  I  suppose  they  may,'  —  I  answered  slowly. 

4  But  they  do.  There  was  our  former  colonel's  wife 
—  Mrs.  Holt ;  she  was  a  regular  church-goer,  and  a 
member  of  the  church  ;  she  was  always  at  the  hop,  and 
her  sister ;  they  are  both  church  members.  Mrs. 
Lambkin,  Gen.  Lambkin's  wife,  she  is  another.  Major 
Banks's  sisters  —  those  pretty  girls,  —  they  are  always 
there ;  and  it  is  the  same  with  visiters.  Everybody 
comes ;  their  being  Christians  does  not  make  any 
difference.* 

'Capt.  Thorold,'  said  I,  — 4  I  mean  Mr.  Thorold, 
don't  you  obey  your  orders  ? ' 

1  Yes  —  generally,'  he  said.     And  he  laughed. 

1  So  must  I.' 

1  You  are  not  a  soldier.' 

4  Yes  —  I  am.' 

4  Have  you  got  orders  not  to  come  to  our  hop  ? ' 

*  I  think  I  have.  You  will  not  understand  me,  but 
this  is  what  I  mean,  Mr.  Thorold.  I  am  a  soldier,  of 
another  sort  from  you ;  and  I  have  orders  not  to  go 
anywhere  that  my  Captain  does  not  send  me  or  where 
I  cannot  be  serving  him.' 

4 1  wish  you  would  shew  those  orders  to  me.' 

I  gave  him  the  open  page  which  I  had  been  studying, 
that  same  chapter  of  Colossians,  and  pointed  out  the 


380  DAIST. 

words.  He  looked  at  them,  and  turned  over  the  page, 
and  turned  it  back. 

4 1  don't  see  the  orders/  he  said. 

I  was  silent.     I  had  not  expected  he  would. 

'  And  I  was  going  to  say,  I  never  saw  any  Christians 
that  were  soldiers  ;  but  I  have,  one.  And  so  you  are 
another?'  And  he  bent  upon  me  a  look  so  curiously 
considering,  tender,  and  wondering,  at  once,  that  I 
could  not  help  smiling. 

4  A  soldier!'  said  he  again,  —  4You?  Have  you 
ever  been  under  fire  ? ' 

I  smiled  again,  and  then,  I  don't  know  what  it  was. 
I  cannot  tell  what,  in  the  question  and  in  the  look, 
touched  some  weak  spot.  The  question  called  up  such 
sharp  answers  ;  the  look  spoke  so  much  sympathy.  It 
was  very  odd  for  me  to  do ;  but  I  was  taken  unawares  ; 
my  eyes  fell  and  filled,  and  before  I  could  help  it  were 
more  than  full.  I  do  not  know,  to  this  day,  how  I 
came  to  cry  before  Thorold.  It  was  very  soon  over, 
my  weakness,  whatever  it  was.  It  seemed  to  touch 
him  amazingty.  He  got  hold  of  my  hand,  put  it  to  his 
lips,  and  kissed  it  over  and  over,  outside  and  inside. 

4 1  can  see  it  all  in  your  face ! '  he  said  tenderly ; 
4  the  strength  and  the  truth  to  do  anything,  and  bear 
—  whatever  is  necessary.  But  I  am  not  so  good  as 
you.  I  cannot  bear  anything  unless  it  is  necessary ; 
and  this  isn't.' 

4  O  no,  nor  I ! '  I  said ;  '  but  this  is  necessary,  Mr. 
Thorold/ 

4  Prove  it  —  come.' 

4  You  do  not  see  the  orders/  I  said  ;  4  but  there  they 
are.  "  Do  all  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus."  I  can 
not  go  to  that  place  "  in  his  name." ' 


OBEYING    ORDERS.  381 

1 1  do  not  think  I  understand  what  you  mean,'  he 
said  gently.  4  A  soldier,  the  best  that  ever  lived,  is 
his  own  man  when  he  is  off  duty.  We  go  to  the  hop 
to  play  —  not  to  work/ 

1  Ah,  but  a  soldier  of  Christ  is  never  "  off  duty,"' 
I  said.  'See,  Mr.  Thorold  —  "whatsoever  ye  do"  — 
44  whether  ye  eat  or  drink  or  whatsoever  ye  do"  — 
That  covers  all ;  don't  you  see  ? ' 

4  That  would  make  it  a  very  heavy  thing  to  be  a 
Christian,'  he  said  ;  4  there  would  be  no  liberty  at  all/ 

4  O  but  it  is  all  liberty  ! '  I  said.  — '  When  you  love 
Jesus/ 

He  looked  at  me  so  enquiringly,  so  inquisitively, 
that  I  went  on. 

4  You  do  not  think  it  hard  to  do  things  for  anybody 
you  love?' 

4  No/  said  he.     4 1  would  like  to  do  things  for  you/ 

I  remember  I  smiled  at  that,  for  it  seemed  to  me 
very  pleasant  to  hear  him  say  it ;  but  I  went  on. 

4  Then  you  understand  it,  Mr.  Thorold/ 

4  No,'  said  he,  4 1  do  not  understand  it ;  for  there  is 
this  difficulty.  I  do  not  see  what  in  the  world  such  an 
innocent  amusement  as  that  we  are  talking  of,  can 
have  to  do  with  Christian  duty,  one  way  or  another. 
Every  Christian  woman  that  I  know  comes  to  it,  — 
that  is  young  enough;  and  some  that  aren't/ 

It  was  very  hard  to  explain. 

4  Suppose  they  disobey  orders,'  I  said  slowly ;  — 
*  that  would  be  another  reason  why  I  should  obey 
them/ 

4  Of  course.     But  do  they  ? ' 

4 1  should,'  I  said.     4 1  am  not  serving  Christ  when  I 


382  DAISY. 

am  there.  I  am  not  doing  the  work  he  has  given  me 
to  do.  I  cannot  go.' 

4 1  game  down  here  on  purpose  to  persuade  you,'  he 
said. 

It  was  not  necessary  to  answer  that,  otherwise  than 
by  a  look. 

'  And  you  are  unpersuadable/  he  said  ;  '  unmanage 
able,  of  course,  by  me  ;  strong  as  a  giant,  and  gentle 
as  a  snowflake.  But  the  snowfiake  melts  ;  and  you  — 
you  will  go  up  to  the  hotel  as  good  a  crystal  as  when 
you  came  down.' 

This  made  me  laugh,  and  we  had  a  good  laugh  to 
gether,  holding  each  other's  hand. 

'Do  you  know,' said  he,  'I  must  go?  There  is  a 
roll  of  a  summons  that  reaches  my  ear,  and  I  must  be 
at  the  top  of  the  bank  in  one  minute  and  a  quarter.  I 
had  no  leave  to  be  here.' 

*  Hadn't  you?'  I  said.  *  O  then  go,  go  directly,  Mr. 
Thoroid ! ' 

But  I  could  not  immediately  release  my  hand,  and 
holding  it  and  looking  at  me  Thoroid  laughed  again ; 
his  hazel  eyes  sparkling  and  dancing  and  varying  with 
what  feelings  I  could  not  tell.  They  looked  very 
steadily  too,  till  I  remember  mine  went  down,  and 
then  lifting  his  cap  he  turned  suddenly  and  sprang 
away.  I  sat  down  to  get  breath  and  think. 

I  had  come  to  my  place  rather  sober  and  sorrowful ; 
and  what  a  pleasant  morning  I  had  had !  I  did  not 
mind  at  all  now  my  not  going  to  the  dances.  I  had 
explained  myself  to  Mr.  Thoroid,  and  we  were  not 
auy^  further  apart  for  it,  and  I  had  had  a  chance  to 
speak  to  him  about  other  things  too.  And  though  he 
did  not  understand  me,  perhaps  he  would  some  day. 


OB E I ING    ORDERS.  383 

The  warning  gong  sounded  before  I  had  well  got  to 
my  Bible  reading.  My  Bible  reading  was  very  pleas 
ant  this  morning,  and  I  could  not  be  balked  of  it ;  so 
I  spent  over  it  near  the  whole  half  hour  that  remained, 
and  rushed  up  to  the  hotel  in  the  last  five  minutes. 
Of  course  I  was  rather  late  and  quite  out  of  breath ; 
and  having  no  voice  and  being  a  little  excited,  I  sup 
pose  was  the  reason  that  I  curtseyed  to  Dr.  Sandford, 
whom  I  met  at  the  head  of  the  piazza  steps.  He 
looked  at  me  like  a  man  taken  aback. 

4  Daisy  ! '  he  exclaimed. 

4  Yes,  sir/  I  answered. 

4  Where  have  you  come  from  ? ' 

1  From  my  study/  I  said.  '  I  have  a  nice  place 
down  by  the  river  which  is  my  study.' 

4  Rather  a  public  situation  for  a  private  withdrawing 
place/  said  the  doctor. 

40  no!'   said   I.     'At  this  hour  —  '     But  there  I 
stopped  and  began  again.     '  It  is  really  very  private. 
And  it  is  the  pleasantest  study  place  I  think  I  ever  had.' 

'To  study  what?' 

I  held  up  my  book. 

4  It  agrees  with  you/  said  the  doctor. 

4  What?'  said  I  laughing. 

4  Daisy  ! '  said  Dr.  Sandford  — '  I  left  a  quiet  bud  of 
a  flower  a  few  days  ago  —  a  little  demure  bit  of  a 
schoolgirl,  learning  geology ;  and  I  have  got  a  young 
princess  here,  a  full  rose,  prickles  and  all,  I  don't 
doubt.  What  has  Mrs.  Sandford  done  with  you  ? ' 

4 1  do  not  know/  said  I,  thinking  I  had  bet  ter  be 
demure  again.     4  She  took  me  to  the  hop.' 

4  The  hop  ?  —  How  did  you  like  that  ? ' 
4 1  liked  it  very  much.' 


584  DAISY. 

4  You  did?  You  liked  it?  I  did  not  know  that  you 
would  go,  with  your  peculiar  notions.' 

4 1  went/  I  said ;  '  I  did  not  know  what  it  was. 
Bow  could  I  help  liking  it?  But  I  am  not  going 
again.' 

•  Why  not,  if  you  liked  it? ' 

•  I  am  not  going  again/  I  repeated.     *  Shall  we  have 
a  walk  to  the  hills  to-day,  Dr.  Sandford  ? ' 

•  Grant ! '  said  his  sister-in-law's  voice,  '  don't  you 
m^an  the  child  shall  have  any  breakfast  ?     What  made 
you  so  late,  Daisy?     Come  in,  and  talk  afterwards. 
Grant  is  uneasy  if  he  can't  see  at  least  your  shadow 
all  the  while/ 

"Vv\*  went  in  to  breakfast,  and  I  took  a  delightful 
walk  with  Dr.  Sandford  afterward,  back  in  the  ravines 
of  the  hills  ;  but  I  had  got  an  odd  little  impression  of 
two  tuings.  First,  that  he,  like  Preston,  was  glad  to 
have  xne  give  up  going  to  the  hops.  I  was  sure  of  it 
from  *iis  air  and  tone  of  voice,  and  it  puzzled  me ; 
for  hu  could  not  possibly  have  Preston's  dislike  of 
Northerners,  nor  be  unwilling  that  I  should  know 
them.  The  other  thing  was,  that  he  would  not  like  my 
seeing  Mr.  Thorold.  I  don't  know  how  I  knew  it,  but 
I  knew  it.  I  thought  —  it  was  very  odd  —  but  I 
thought  he  was  jealous;  or  rather,  I  felt  he  would  be 
if  he  had  any  knowledge  of  our  friendship  for  each 
other.  So  I  resolved  he  should  have  no  such  knowl 
edge. 

Our  life  went  on  now  as  it  had  done  at  our  first 
coming.  Every  day  Dr.  Sandford  and  I  went  to  the 
woods  and  hills,  on  a  regular  naturalist's  expedition ; 
and  nothing  is  so  pleasant  as  such  expeditions.  At 
home,  we  were  busy  with  microscopic  examinations, 


OBEYING    ORDERS.  385 

preparations,  and  studies ;  delightful  studies,  and 
beautiful  lessons,  in  which  the  doctor  was  the  finest  of 
instructors,  as  I  have  said,  and  I  was  at  least  the  hap 
piest  of  scholars.  Mrs.  Sandford  fumed  a  little,  and 
Mr.  Sandford  laughed  ;  but  that  did  no  harm.  Every 
body  went  to  the  hops,  except  the  doctor  and  me  ;  and 
every  morning  and  evening,  at  guardmounting  and  at 
parade,  I  was  on  the  ground  behind  the  guard  tents  to 
watch  the  things  done  and  listen  to  the  music  and  en 
joy  all  the  various  beauty.  Sometimes  I  had  a 
glimpse  of  Thorold  ;  for  many  both  of  cadets  and 
officers  used  to  come  and  speak  to  me  and  rally  me  on 
my  seclusion,  and  endeavour  to  tempt  me  out  of  it. 
Thorold  did  not  that ;  he  only  looked  at  me,  as  if  I 
were  something  to  be  a  little  wondered  at  but  wholly 
approved  of.  It  was  not  a  disagreeable  look  to  meet. 

'  I  must  have  it  out  with  you,'  he  said  one  evening, 
when  he  had  just  a  minute  to  speak  to  me.  '  There  is 
a  whole  world  of  things  I  don't  understand,  and  want 
to  talk  about.  Let  us  go  Saturday  afternoon  and  take 
a  good  long  walk  up  to  No.  Four  —  do  you  like  hills?' 

1  Yes.' 

4  Then  let  us  go  up  there  Saturday  —  will  you  ? ' 

And  when  Saturday  came,  we  went.  Preston  luck 
ily  was  not  on  hand  ;  and  Dr.  Sandford,  also  luckily, 
was  gone  to  dine  at  the  General's  with  his  brother. 
There  were  no  more  shadows  on  earth  than  there  were 
clouds  in  the  sky,  as  we  took  our  way  across  the  plain 
and  along  the  bank  in  front  of  the  officers'  quarters 
looking  north,  and  went  out  at  the  gate.  Then  we  left 
civilization  and  the  world  behind  us,  and  plunged  into 
a  wild  mountain  region ;  going  up  by  a  track  which 
33 


386  DAISY. 

few  feet  ever  used,  the  rough  slope  to  '  Number  Four/ 
Yet  that  a  few  feet  used  it  was  plain. 

'Do  people  come  here  to  walk,  much?'  I  asked  as 
we  slowly  made  our  way  up. 

4  Nobody  comes  here  —  for  anything/ 

4  Somebody  goes  here,'  I  said.  4  This  is  a  beaten 
path/ 

4  O  there  is  a  poor  woodcutter's  family  at  the  top ; 
they  do  travel  up  and  down  occasionally/ 

4  It  is  pretty/  I  said. 

4  It  is  pretty  at  the  top  ;  but  we  are  a  long  way  from 
that.  Is  it  too  rough  for  you  ? ' 

4  Not  at  all,'  I  said.     '  I  like  it/ 

4  You  are  a  good  walker,  for  a  Southern  girl/ 

4  O  but  I  have  lived  at  the  North,'  I  said ;  4 1  am 
only  Southern  born/ 

Soon  however  he  made  me  stop  to  rest.  There  was 
a  good  grey  rock  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees ; 
Thorold  placed  me  on  that  and  threw  himself  on  the 
moss  at  my  feet.  We  were  up  so  high  in  the  world 
that  the  hills  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  rose  beau 
tifully  before  us  through  the  trees,  and  a  sunny  bit  of 
the  lower  ground  of  the  plain  looked  like  a  bit  of 
another  world  that  we  were  leaving.  It  was  a  sunny 
afternoon  and  a  little  hazy  ;  every  line  softened,  every 
colour  made  richer  under  the  mellowing  atmosphere. 

4  Now  you  can  explain  it  all  to  me,'  said  Thorold  as 
he  threw  himself  down.  4  You  have  walked  too  fast. 
You  are  warm/ 

4  And  you  do  not  look  as  if  it  was  warm  at  all/ 

4 1 !  This  is  nothing  to  me/  he  said.  4  But  perhaps 
it  will  warm  me  and  cool  you,  if  we  get  into  a  talk,  I 
want  explanations/ 


OBEYING    ORDERS.  387 

«  About  what,  Mr.  Thorold?' 

4  Well  —  if  you  will  excuse  me  —  about  you,'  he 
said  with  a  very  pleasant  look,  frank  and  soft  at 
once. 

*  I  am  quite  ready  to  explain  myself/  I  said.     4  But 
I  am  afraid,  when  I  have  done  it,  that  you  will  not 
understand  me,  Mr.  Thorold/ 

4  Think  I  cannot?'  said  he. 

1 1  am  afraid  not,  —  without  knowing  what  I  know/ 

*  Let  us  see/  said  Thorold.     '  I  want  to  know  why 
you  judge  so  differently  from  other  people  about  the 
right  and  the  wrong  of  hops  and  such  things.     Some 
body  is  mistaken  —  that  is  clear/ 

4  But  the  difficulty  is,  I  cannot  give  you  my  point  of 
view/ 

4  Please  try  — '  said  Thorold  contentedly,  resting 
his  elbow  in  a  soft  cushion  of  moss. 

4  Mr.  Thorold,  I  told  you,  I  am  a  soldier/ 

4  Yes  — '  he  said,  looking  up  at  me,  and  little  spar 
kles  of  light  seeming  to  come  out  of  his  hazel  eyes. 

4 1  shewed  you  my  orders.' 

'  But  I  did  not  understand  them  to  be  what  you 
said/ 

4  Suppose  you  were  were  in  an  enemy's  country/  I 
said  ;  —  4  a  rebel  country  ;  and  your  orders  were,  to  do 
nothing  which  could  be  construed  into  encouraging  the 
rebels,  or  which  could  help  them  to  think  that  your 
king  would  hold  friendship  with  them,  or  that  there  was 
not  a  perfect  gulf  of  division  between  3rou  and  them/ 

4  But  this  is  not  such  r»  case  ? '  said  Thorold. 

4  That  is  only  part/  I  said.  4  Suppose  your  orders 
were,  to  keep  constant  watch  and  hold  yourself  at 
every  minute  ready  for  duty,  and  to  go  nowhere  and 


S88  DAISY. 

do  nothing  that  would  unfit  you  for  instant  service 
or  put  you  off  your  watch.' 

*  But  Miss  Randolph  ! '  said  Thorold,  a  little  impa 
tiently —  'do  these  little  dances  unfit  you  for  duty?' 

'  Yes/  I  said.     '  And  put  me  off  my  watch.' 

*  Your  watch  against   what  ?     O  pardon   me !    and 
please  enlighten  me.     I  do  not   mean   to   be   imper 
tinent.' 

' 1  mean  my  watch  for  orders  —  my  watch  against 
evil.' 

'Won't  you  explain?'  said  Thorold  gently  and  im 
patiently  at  once.  'What  sort  of  evil  can  you  pos 
sibly  fear,  in  connection  with  such  an  innocent  little 
recreation?  What  sort  of  "orders"  are  you  ex 
pecting  ? ' 

I  hesitated.  Should  I  tell  him  ?  would  he  believe  ? 
was  it  best  to  unveil  the  working  of  my  own  heart  to 
that  degree?  And  how  could  I  evade  or  shirk  the 
question  ? 

'  I  should  not  like  to  tell  you,'  I  said  at  length,  '  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  I  found  stirring  in  myself,  after 
the  last  time  I  went  to  the  hop.  I  dare  say  they  are 
something  that  belongs  especially  to  a  woman,  and 
that  a  man  would  not  know  them.' 

Thorold  turned  on  me  again  a  wonderfully  gentle 
look,  for  a  gay  fiery  young  Vermonter,  as  I  knew  him 
to  be. 

'  It  wanted  only  that ! '  he  said.  — '  And  the  orders, 
Miss  Randolph  —  what  "orders"  are  you  expecting ? 
You  said,  orders.' 

'  Orders  may  be  given  by  a  sign,'  I  said.  '  They 
need  not  be  in  words.' 

He  smiled.     '  I  see,  you  have  studied  the  subject.' 


OBEYING    ORDERS.  389 

4  I  mean,  only,  that  whenever  a  duty  is  plainly  put 
before  me  —  something  given  me  to  do  —  I  know  I 
have  "  orders  "  to  do  it.  And  then,  Mr.  Thorold,  as 
the  orders  are  not  spoken,  nor  brought  to  me  by  a 
messenger,  only  made  known  to  me  by  a  sign  of  some 
sort,  —  if  I  did  not  keep  a  good  watch,  I  should  be 
sure  to  miss  the  sign  sometimes,  don't  you  see?' 

c  This  is  soldiership ! '  said  Thorold.  And  getting 
up,  he  stood  before  me  in  attitude  like  a  soldier  as  he 
was,  erect,  still,  with  arms  folded,  only  not  up  to  his 
chin  like  Capt.  Percival,  but  folded  manfully.  He  had 
been  watching  me  very  intently  ;  now  he  stood  as  in 
tently  looking  off  over  the  further  landscape.  Me- 
thought  I  had  a  sort  of  pride  in  his  fine  appearance ; 
and  yet  he  did  in  no  wise  belong  to  me.  Nevertheless 
it  was  pleasant  to  see,  the  firm,  still  attitude,  the  fine 
proportions,  the  military  nicety  of  all  his  dress,  which 
I  had  before  noticed  on  the  parade  ground.  For  as 
there  is  a  difference  between  one  walk  and  another, 
though  all  trained  ;  so  there  is  a  difference  between  one 
neatness  and  another,  though  all  according  to  regula 
tion  ;  and  Preston  never  looked  like  this. 

He  turned  round  at  last,  and  smiled  clown  at  me. 

4  Are  you  rested  ? ' 

4  O  yes  ! '  I  said  rising.     « I  was  not  fatigued.' 

4  Are  you  tired  talking?' 

4  No,  not  at  all.     Have  I  talked  so  very  much?' 

He  laughed  at  that,  but  went  on. 

4  Will  }7ou  be  out  of  patience  with  my  stupidity?' 

I  said  no. 

4  Because  I  am  not  fully  enlightened  yet.  I  want 
to  ask  further  questions  ;  and  asking  questions  is  very 
impertinent.' 


390  DAISY. 

1  Not  if  you  have  leave,'  I  said.  *  Ask  what  you 
like/ 

'  I  am  afraid  nevertheless.  But  I  can  never  know, 
if  I  do  not  ask.  How  is  it  —  this  is  what  puzzles  me, 
—  that  other  people  who  call  themselves  Christians  do 
not  think  as  you  think  about  all  this  matter  ? ' 

1  Soldiership?  '  I  asked. 

4  Well,  yes.     It  comes  to  that,  I  suppose/ 

4  You  know  what  soldiership  ought  to  be/  I  said. 

4  But  one  little  soldier  cannot  be  all  the  rank  and 
file  of  this  army  ? '  he  said  looking  down  at  me. 

4  O  no  ! '  I  said  laughing,  — '  there  are  a  great  many 
more,  —  there  are  a  great  many  more,  —  only  you  do 
not  happen  to  see  them/ 

4  And  these  others,  that  I  do  see,  are  not  soldiers 
then?' 

4 1  do  not  know,'  I  said,  feeling  sadly  what  a  stum 
bling  block  it  was.  4  Perhaps  they  are.  But  you  know 
yourself,  Mr.  Thorold,  there  is  a  difference  between 
soldiers  and  soldiers/ 

He  was  silent  a  while,  as  we  mounted  the  hill,  and 
then  suddenly  broke  out  again. 

4  But  it  makes  religion  a  slavery  —  a  bondage  —  to 
be  all  the  while  under  arms,  on  guard,  watching 
orders.  Always  on  the  watch  and  expecting  to  be 
under  fire  —  it  is  too  much  ;  it  would  make  a  gloomy, 
ugly  life  of  it/ 

4  But  suppose  you  are  under  fire  ? '  T  said. 

4  What  ? '  said  he,  looking  and  laughing  again. 

4  If  you  are  a  good  soldier  in  an  enemy's  country, 
always  with  work  to  do ;  will  you  wish  to  be  off  your 
guard,  or  off  duty?' 

4  But  what  a  life  ! '  said  Thorold. 


OBEYING   ORDERS.  391 

'  If  you  love  your  Captain  ? '   said  I. 

He  stopped  and  looked  at  me  with  one  of  the  keen 
est  looks  of  scrutiny  I  ever  met.  It  seemed  to  scruti 
nize  not  me  only,  but  the  truth.  I  thought  he  was  sat 
isfied  ;  for  he  turned  away  without  adding  anything 
more  at  that  time.  His  mind  was  at  work  however ; 
for  he  broke  down  a  small  branch  in  his  way  and 
busied  himself  with  it  in  sweeping  the  trunks  of  the 
trees  as  we  went  by ;  varying  the  occupation  with  a 
careful  clearing  away  of  all  stones  and  sticks  that 
would  make  my  path  rougher  than  it  need  be.  Finally, 
giving  me  his  hand  to  help  me  spring  over  a  little  rivu 
let  that  crossed  our  way. 

1  Here  is  an  incongruity,  now  I  think  of  it,'  said  he 
smiling.  c  How  is  it  that  you  can  be  on  such  good 
terms  with  a  rebel?  Ought  you  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  me  ?  ' 

*  I  may  be  friends  with  anybody  in  his  private  capac 
ity/  I  answered  in  the  same  tone.  *  That  does  not 
compromise  anything.  It  is  only  when  —  You  know 
what  I  mean.' 

1  When  they  are  assembled  for  doubtful  purposes.' 

4  Or  gathered  in  a  place  where  the  wrong  colours  are 
displayed,'  I  added.  '  I  must  not  go  there.' 

'  There  was  no  false  banner  hung  out  on  the  Aea- 
tfemic  Building  the  other  night,'  he  said  humourously. 

But  E  knew  my  King's  banner  was  not  either.  I 
knew,  people  did  not  think  of  Him  there,  nor  work  for 
Him,  and  would  have  been  very  much  surprised  to  hear 
any  one  speak  of  Him.  Say  it  was  innocent  amuse 
ment  ;  people  did  not  want  Him  with  them  there  ;  and 
where  He  was  not,  I  did  not  wish  to  be.  But  I  could 


392  DAISY. 

not  tell  all  this  to  Mr.  Thorold.  He  was  not  contented 
however  without  an  answer. 

4  How  was  it  ? '  he  asked. 

'  You  cannot  understand  me/  I  said,  *  and  you  may 
laugh  at  me.' 

'Why  may  I  not  understand  you?'  he  said  gently, 
with  the  utmost  deference  of  manner. 

4 1  suppose,  because  you  do  not  understand  some 
thing  else,'  I  said ;  '  and  you  cannot,  Mr.  Thorold, 
until  you  know  what  the  love  of  Jesus  is,  and  what  it 
is  to  care  for  his  honour  and  his  service  more  than  for 
anything  else  in  the  world.' 

I  But  are  they  compromised  ? '   he  asked.     '  That  is 
the  thing.     You  see,  I  want  you  back  at  the  hop.' 

'  I  would  like  to  come,'  said  I ;  '  but  I  must  not.' 
'  On  the  ground  —  ? ' 

I 1  told  you,  Mr.  Thorold.     I  do  not  find  that  my 
orders  allow  me  to  go  there.     I  must  do  nothing  that  I 
cannot  do  in  my  King's  name.' 

'That  is  — ' 

'  As  his  servant  —  on  his  errands  —  following  where 
he  leads  me.' 

'  I  never  heard  it  put  so  before,'  said  Thorold.  '  It 
bears  the  stamp  of  perfection  —  only  an  impossible 
perfection.' 

<  No  — '  said  I. 

'  To  ordinary  mortals,'  he  rejoined,  with  one  of  his 
quick  brilliant  flashes  of  the  eye.  Then  as  it  softened 
and  changed  again, — 

4  Miss  Randolph,  permit  me  to  ask  a  not  irrelevant 
question  — -  Are  you  happy  ? ' 

And  with  the  inquiry  came  the  investigating  look, 
keen  as  a  razor  or  a  rJie  ball.  I  could  meet  it  though ; 


OBEYING   ORDERS. 

and  I  told  him,  it  was  this  made  me  happy.  For  the 
first  time  his  face  was  troubled.  He  turned  it  from 
me  and  dropped  the  conversation.  I  let  it  drop  too ; 
and  we  walked  side  by  side  and  silently  the  remainder 
of  the  steep  way;  neither  of  us,  I  believe,  paying 
much  attention  to  what  there  was  to  be  seen  below  or 
around  us.  At  the  top  however  this  changed.  We 
found  a  good  place  to  rest,  and  sat  there  a  long  time 
looking  at  the  view ;  Thorold  pointing  out  its  differ 
ent  features,  and  telling  me  about  them  in  detail :  his 
visits  to  them,  and  exploration  of  the  region  gener 
ally.  And  we  planned  imaginary  excursions  together ; 
one  especially  to  the  top  of  the  Crow's  Nest,  with  an 
imaginary  party,  to  see  the  sun  rise.  We  would  have 
to  go  up  of  course  over  night ;  we  must  carry  a  tent 
along  for  shelter,  and  camp  beds,  and  cooking  utensils, 
at  least  a  pot  to  boil  coffee  ;  and  plenty  of  warm  wraps 
and  plenty  of  provisions,  for  people  always  eat  terribly 
in  cold  regions,  Thorold  said.  And  though  the  top 
of  the  Crow's  Nest  is  not  Arctic  by  any  means,  still  it 
is  cool  enough  even  in  a  warm  day,  and  would  be  cer 
tainly  cool  at  night.  Also  the  member?  of  our  party 
we  debated  ;  they  must  be  people  of  good  tempers  and 
travelling  habits,  not  to  be  put  out  for  a  IHtle  ;  people 
with  large  tastes  for  enjoyment,  to  whom  J-he  glory  of 
the  morning  would  make  amends  for  all  the  toil  of  the 
night ;  and  good  talkers,  to  keep  up  the  tone  of  the 
whole  thing.  Meanwhile,  Thorold  and  I  heartily  en 
joyed  Number  Four ;  as  also  I  did  his  explanations  of 
fortifications,  which  I  drew  from  him  and  mo-de  him 
apply  to  all  the  fortifications  in  sight  or  which  I  knew. 
And  when  the  sun's  westing  told  us  it  was  time  to  go 
home,  we  went  down  all  the  way  talking.  I  have  but 


394  DAISY. 

little  remembrance  of  the  path.  The  cool  bright  fresh 
ness  of  the  light  in  the  trees,  and  its  brilliant  gleams 
in  the  distance  after  it  had  left  our  hillside,  —  I  re 
member  that.  I  have  an  impression  of  the  calm  clear 
beauty  that  was  under  foot  and  overhead,  that  after 
noon  ;  but  I  saw  it  only  as  I  could  see  it  while  giving 
my  thought  to  something  else.  Sometimes,  holding 
hands,  we  took  runs  down  the  mountain  side ;  then 
walked  demurely  again  when  we  got  to  easier  going. 
We  had  come  to  the  lower  region  at  last  and  were  not 
far  from  the  gate,  talking  earnestly  and  walking  close 
together,  when  I  saw  Thorold  touch  his  cap.  I  do  not 
know  what  made  me  ask, 

4  Was  that  anybody  I  knew  ? ' 

4 1  believe  it  was  your  friend  Dr.  Sandford,'  he  said, 
smiling  into  my  face  with  a  smile  of  peculiar  expression 
and  peculiar  beauty.  I  saw  something  had  pleased 
him,  pleased  him  very  much.  It  could  not  have  been 
Dr.  Sandford.  I  cannot  say  I  was  pleased,  as  I  had 
an  intuitive  assurance  the  doctor  was  not.  But  Tho- 
rold's  smile  almost  made  amends. 

That  evening  the  doctor  informed  us  he  had  got  in 
telligence  which  obliged  him  to  leave  the  Point  imme 
diately  ;  and  as  he  could  go  with  us  part  of  the  way  to 
Niagara,  we  had  better  all  set  off  together.  I  had  lost 
all  my  wish  to  go  to  Niagara ;  but  I  said  nothing. 
Mrs.  Sandford  said  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by 
staying  at  the  Point  any  longer,  as  I  would  not  go  to 
the  hops.  So  Moi  day  morning  we  went  away. 


SOUTH  AND  NORTH.  395 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

SOUTH   AND   NORTH. 

WE  made  a  round  of  pleasure  after  leaving  West 
Point.  That  is,  it  was  a  round  of  pleasure  to  the  rest 
of  the  party.  I  had  left  my  best  pleasure  behind  me. 
Certainly  I  enjoyed  Catskill,  and  Trenton  Falls,  and 
Niagara,  after  some  sort ;  but  there  was  nothing  in 
them  all  like  my  walk  to  Number  Four.  West  Point 
had  enough  natural  beauty  to  satisfy  any  one,  I 
thought,  even  for  all  summer ;  and  there  I  had  besides 
what  I  had  not  elsewhere  and  never  had  before,  a 
companion.  All  my  earlier  friends  were  far  older 
than  I,  or  beneath  me  in  station.  Preston  was  the 
single  exception  ;  and  Preston  and  I  were  now  widely 
apart  in  our  sympathies ;  indeed  always  had  been. 
Mr.  Thorold  and  I  talked  to  each  other  on  a  level ;  we 
understood  each  other  and  suited  each  other.  I  could 
let  out  my  thoughts  to  him  with  a  freedom  I  never 
could  use  with  anybody  else. 

It  grieved  me  a  little  that  I  had  been  forced  to  come 
away  so  abruptly  that  I  had  no  chance  of  letting  him 
know.  Courtesy,  I  thought,  demanded  of  me  that  I 
should  have  done  this  ;  and  I  could  not  do  it ;  and 
this  was  a  constant  subject  of  regret  to  me. 

At  the  end  of  our  journey  I  came  back  to  school. 
Letters  from  my  father  and  mother  desired  that  I 


396  DAISY. 

would  do  so,  and  appointed  that  I  was  to  join  them 
abroad  next  year.  My  mother  had  decided  that  it 
was  best  not  to  interfere  with  the  regular  course  of  my 
education ;  and  my  father  renewed  his  promise  that  I 
should  have  any  reward  I  chose  to  claim,  to  comfort 
me  for  the  delay.  So  I  bent  myself  to  study  with  new 
energies  and  new  hope. 

I  studied  more  things  than  school  books  that  winter. 
The  bits  of  political  matter  I  had  heard  talked  over  at 
West  Point  were  by  no  means  forgotten  ;  and  once  in 
a  while,  when  I  had  time  and  a  chance,  I  seized  one 
of  the  papers  from  Mine.  Ricard's  library  table  and 
examined  it.  And  every  time  I  did  so,  something 
urged  me  to  do  it  again.  I  was  very  ignorant.  I  had 
no  clue  to  a  great  deal  that  .was  talked  of  in  these 
prints ;  but  I  could  perceive  the  low  threatening  growl 
of  coming  ill  weather,  which  seemed  to  rise  on  the  ear 
every  time  I  listened.  And  a  little  anxiety  began  to 
grow  up  in  my  mind.  Mme.  Ricard  of  course  never 
spoke  on  these  subjects  and  probably  did  not  care 
about  them.  Dr.  Sandford  was  safe  in  Washington. 
I  once  asked  Miss  Cardigan  what  she  thought.  '  There 
are  evil  men  abroad,  dear,'  she  said.  '  I  don't  know 
what  they  will  be  permitted  to  do.' 

4  Who  do  you  hope  will  be  elected  ?  '  I  asked. 

4 1  don't  vote  myself,'  said  Miss  Cardigan  ;  '  so  I  do 
not  fash  myself  much  with  what  I  can't  help ;  but  I 
hope  the  man  will  be  elected  that  will  do  the  right 
thing.' 

4  And  who  is  that?  '  I  asked.  '  You  do  not  want 
slavery  to  be  allowed  in  the  territories?' 

4 1?  Not  I ! '  said  Miss  Cardigan.  4  And  if  the  peo 
ple  want  to  keep  it  out  of  them,  I  suppose  they  will 


SOUTH  AND   NORTH.  397 

elect  Abraham  Lincoln.  I  don't  know  if  he  is  the 
right  man  or  no  ;  but  he  is  on  the  right  side.  u  Break 
every  yoke,  and  let  the  oppressed  go  free."  That  is 
my  maxim,  Daisy.' 

I  pondered  this  matter  by  turns  more  and  more 
By  and  by  there  began  to  be  audible  mutterings  of  a 
storm  in  the  air  around  me.  The  first  I  heard  was 
when  we  were  all  together  in  the  evening  with  our 
work,  the  half  hour  before  tea. 

'  Lincoln  is  elected '  —  whispered  one  of  the  girls  to 
another. 

4  Who  cares  ? '  the  other  said  aloud. 

4  What  if  he  is  ? '  asked  a  third. 

1  Then,'  said  a  gentle,  graceful  looking  girl,  spread 
ing  her  embroidery  out  on  her  lap  with  her  slim  white 
fingers,  —  4  then  there'll  be  fighting.' 

It  was  given,  this  announcement,  with  the  coolest 
matter-of-fact  assurance. 

4  Who  is  going  to  fight  ? '  was  the  next  question. 

The  former  speaker  gave  a  glance  up  to  see  if  her 
audience  was  safe,  and  then  replied  as  coolly  as 
before. 

4  My  brother,  for  one.' 

4  What  for,  Sally?' 

4  Do  you  think  we  are  going  to  have  these  vulgar 
Northerners  rule  over  us?  My  cousin  Marshall  is 
coming  back  from  Europe  on  purpose  that  he  may  be 
here  and  be  ready.  I  know  my  aunt  wrote  him  word 
that  she  would  disinherit  him  if  he  did  not.' 

4  Daisy  Randolph  —  you  are  a  Southerner,'  said  one 
of  the  girls. 

4  Of  course,  she  is  a  Southerner,'  said  Sally  going  on 
with  her  embroidery.     '  She  is  safe.' 
34 


398  DAISY. 

But  if  I  was  safe,  I  was  very  uncomfortable.  I 
hardly  knew  why  I  was  so  uncomfortable.  Only,  I 
wished  ardently  that  troubles  might  not  break  out 
between  the  two  quarters  of  the  country.  I  had  a 
sense  that  the  storm  would  come  near  home.  I  could 
not  recollect  my  mother  and  my  father,  without  a 
dread  that  there  would  be  opposing  electricities  be 
tween  them  and  me. 

I  began  to  study  the  daily  news  more  constantly 
and  carefully.  I  had  still  the  liberty  of  Mme.'s  library, 
and  the  papers  were  always  there.  I  could  give  to 
them  only  a  few  minutes  now  and  then  ;  but  I  felt 
that  the  growl  of  the  storm  was  coming  nearer  and 
growing  more  threatening.  Extracts  from  Southern 
papers  seemed  to  me  very  violent  and  very  wrong- 
headed ;  at  the  same  time  I  knew  that  my  mother 
would  endorse  them  and  Preston  would  echo  them. 
Then  South  Carolina  passed  the  ordinance  of  seces 
sion.  Six  days  after,  Maj.  Anderson  took  possession 
of  Fort  Sumter  in  Charleston  Harbour,  and  immedi 
ately  the  fort  he  had  left  and  Castle  Pinckney  were 
garrisoned  by  the  South  Carolinians  in  opposition.  I 
could  not  tell  how  much  all  this  signified  ;  but  my 
heart  began  to  give  a  premonitory  beat  sometimes. 
Mississippi  followed  South  Carolina ;  then  United 
States'  forts  and  Arsenals  were  seized  in  North  Caro 
lina  and  Georgia,  and  Alabama,  one  after  the  other. 
The  tone  of  the  press  was  very  threatening,  at  least  of 
the  Southern  press.  And  not  less  significant,  to  my 
ear,  was  the  whisper  I  occasionally  heard  among  a 
portion  of  our  own  little  community.  A  secret  whis 
per,  intense  in  its  sympathy  with  the  seceding  half  of 
the  nation,  contemptuously  hostile  to  the  other  part. 


SOUTH  AND   NORTH.  399 

among  whom  they  were  at  that  very  moment  receiving 
Northern  education  and  Northern  kindness.  The 
girls  even  listened  and  gathered  scraps  of  conversation 
that  passed  in  their  hearing,  to  retail  them  in  letters 
sent  home ;  4  they  did  not  know/  they  said,  '  what 
might  be  of  use.'  Later,  some  of  these  letters  were 
intercepted  by  the  General  Government  and  sent  back 
from  Washington  to  Mine.  Ricard.  All  this  told  me 
much  of  the  depth  and  breadth  of  feeling  among  the 
community  of  which  these  girls  formed  a  part;  and 
my  knowledge  of  my  own  father  and  mother,  aunt 
Gary  and  Preston,  and  others,  told  me  more.  I  began 
to  pray  that  God  would  not  let  war  come  in  the  land. 

Then  there  was  a  day,  in  January  I  think,  when  a 
bit  of  public  news  was  read  out  in  presence  of  the 
whole  family ;  a  thing  that  rarely  happened.  It  was 
evening,  and  we  were  all  in  the  parlour  with  our  work. 
I  forget  who  was  the  reader,  but  I  remember  the 
words.  '  "  The  steamer  4  Star  of  the  West,'  with  two 
hundred  and  fifty  United  States  troops  on  board  for 
Fort  Sumter  was  fired  into"  (I  forget  the  day)  "by 
the  batteries  near  Charleston."  Young  ladies,  do  you 
hear  that?  The  steamer  was  fired  into.  That  is  the 
beginning.' 

We  looked  at  each  other,  we  girls  ;  startled,  sorry, 
awed,  with  a  strange  glance  of  defiance  from  some 
eyes,  while  some  flowed  over  with  tears,  and  some 
were  eager  with  a  feeling  that  was  not  displeasure. 
All  were  silent  at  first.  Then  whispers  began. 

4 1  told  you  so,'  said  Sally. 

4  Well,  they  have  begun  it,'  said  Macy,  who  was  a 
new  York  girl 

4  Of  course.     What  business  had  the  "  Star  of  the 


400  DAISY. 

West "  to  be  carrying  those  troops  there  ?  South  Caro 
lina  can  take  care  of  her  own  forts.' 

4  Daisy  Randolph,  you  look  as  solemn  as  a  preacher,' 
said  another.  4  Which  side  are  you  on  ?  ' 

4  She  is  on  the  right  side,'  said  another. 

4  Of  course,'  said  Sally.  4  She  is  the  daughter  of  a 
Southern  gentleman ! ' 

4 1  am  not  on  the  side  of  those  who  fire  the  first 
shot,'  I  said. 

*  There  is  no  other  way,'  said  Sally,  coolly.  l  If  a 
rat  comes  in  your  way,  you  must  shoot  him.  I  knew 
it  had  got  to  come.  I  have  heard  my  uncle  talk  enough 
about  that.' 

4  But  what  will  be  the  end  of  it? '  said  another. 

'  Pooh !  it  will  end  like  smoke.  The  Yankees  do 
not  like  fighting  —  they  would  rather  be  excused  if 
you  please.  Their  forte  is  quite  in  another  line —  out 
of  the  way  of  powder.' 

I  wondered  if  that  was  true.  I  thought  of  Thorold, 
and  of  Major  Blunt.  I  was  troubled ;  and  when  I 
went  to  see  Miss  Cardigan,  next  day,  I  found  she 
could  give  me  little  comfort. 

4 1  don't  know,  my  dear,'  she  said,  4  what  they  may 
be  left  to  do.  They're  just  daft  down  there ;  clean 
daft.' 

4  If  they  fight,  we  shall  be  obliged  to  fight,'  I  said, 
not  liking  to  ask  her  about  Northern  courage  ;  and  in 
deed  she  was  a  Scotswoman,  and  what  should  she 
know  ? 

4  Ay,  just  that,'  she  replied;  4  anl  fighting  between 
the  two  parts  of  one  land  is  even  the  worst  fighting 
there  can  be.  Pray  it  may  not  x>me,  Daisy ;  but 
those  people  are  just  daft.' 


SOUTH   AND   NORTH.  401 

The  next  letters  from  my  mother  spoke  of  my  com 
h»j£  out  to  them  as  soon  as  the  school  year  should  be 
over.  The  country  was  likely  to  be  disturbed,  she 
said  ;  and  it  would  not  suit  with  my  father's  health  to 
come  home  just  now.  As  soon  as  the  school  year 
should  be  over  and  Dr.  Sandford  could  find  a  proper 
opportunity  for  me  to  make  the  journey,  I  should 
come. 

I  was  very  glad  ;  yet  I  was  not  all  glad.  I  wished 
they  could  have  come  to  me  rather.  I  was  not,  I 
hardly  knew  why  I  was  not,  quite  ready  to  quit  Amer 
ica  while  these  troubles  threatened.  And  as  days  went 
on,  and  the  cloud  grew  blacker,  my  feeling  of  unwill 
ingness  increased.  The  daily  prints  were  full  of  fresh 
instances  of  the  seizure  of  United  States  property,  of 
the  secession  of  new  States  ;  then  the  Secession  Con 
gress  met,  and  elected  Jefferson  Davis  and  Alexander 
Stephens  their  President  and  Vice  President ;  and  re 
bellion  was  duly  organized. 

Jefferson  Davis  !  How  the  name  took  me  back  to 
the  summer  parade  on  the  West  Point  plain,  and  my 
first  view  of  that  smooth,  sinister,  ill  conditioned  face. 
Now  he  was  heading  rebellion.  Where  would  Dr. 
Sandford,  and  Mr.  Thorold,  and  Preston  be?  How 
far  would  the  rebels  carry  their  work  ?  and  what  oppo 
sition  would  be  made  to  it?  Again  I  asked  Miss  Car 
digan. 

'  It's  beyond  me,  Daisy,'  she  said.  '  I  suppose  it 
will  depend  very  much  on  whether  we've  got  the  right 
man  to  head  us  or  no ;  and  that  nobody  can  tell  till 
we  try.  This  man  Buchanan  that  is  over  us  at  present, 
he  is  no  better  than  a  bit  of  cotton  wool.  I  am  going 
34* 


402  DAISY. 

to  take  a  look  at  Mr.  Lincoln  as  he  comes  through  and 
see  what  I  think  of  him/ 

4  When  is  he  coming?  ' 

4  They  say,  to-day/  said  Miss  Cardigan.  4  There'll 
be  an  uncommon  crowd  ;  but  I'll  risk  it.' 

A  great  desire  seized  me,  that  I  might  see  him  too. 
I  consulted  with  Miss  Cardigan.  School  hours  were 
over  at  three  ;  I  could  get  away  then,  I  thought ;  and 
by  studying  the  programme  of  the  day  we  found  it  pos 
sible  that  it  would  not  be  too  late  then  for  our  object. 
So  it  proved  ;  and  I  have  always  been  glad  of  it  ever 
since. 

Miss  Cardigan  and  I  went  forth  and  packed  ourselves 
in  the  dense  crowd  which  had  gathered  and  filled  all  the 
way  by  which  the  President  elect  was  expected  to 
pass.  A  quiet  and  orderly  and  most  respectable  crowd 
it  was.  Few  Irish,  few  of  the  miserable  of  society, 
who  come  out  only  for  a  spectacle ;  these  were  the 
yeomanry  and  the  middle  classes,  men  of  business,  men 
of  character  and  some  substance,  who  were  waiting 
like  us,  to  see  what  promise  for  the  future  there 
might  be  in  the  aspect  of  our  new  Chief.  Waiting 
patiently  ;  and  we  could  only  wait  patiently  like  them. 
I  thought  of  Preston's  indignation  if  he  could  have 
seen  me,  and  Dr.  Sandford's  ready  negative  on  my  be 
ing  there  ;  but  well  were  these  thoughts  put  to  flight 
when  the  little  cavalcade  for  which  we  were  looking  hove 
in  sight  and  drew  near.  Intense  curiosity  and  then  pro 
found  satisfaction  seized  me.  The  strong,  grave, 
kindly  lineaments  of  the  future  Head  of  the  Country, 
gave  me  instantly  a  feeling  of  confidence,  which  I 
never  lost  in  all  the  time  that  followed.  That  was 
confidence  in  his  honesty  and  goodness ;  but  another 


SOUTH  AND   NORTH.  403 

sort  of  trust  was  awakened  by  the  keen,  searching, 
shrewd  glances  of  those  dark  eyes,  which  seemed  to 
penetrate  the  masses  of  human  intelligences  surround 
ing  him,  and  seek  to  know  what  manner  of  material  he 
might  find  them  at  need.  He  was  not  thinking  of 
himself,  that  was  plain ;  and  the  homely,  expressive 
features  got  a  place  in  my  heart  from  that  time.  The 
little  cavalcade  passed  on  from  us  ;  the  crowd  melted 
away,  and  Miss  Cardigan  and  I  came  slowly  again  up 
Fifth  Avenue. 

'  Ton's  a  mon !  '  quoth  Miss  Cardigan,  speaking  as 
she  did  in  moments  of  strong  feeling,  with  a  little  re 
minder  of  her  Scottish  origin. 

4  Didn't  you  Mke  him  ? '  I  rejoined. 

'  I  always  lik<3  a  man  when  I  see  him,'  .said  my 
friend.  4  He  hac*  need  be  that  too,  for  he  has  got  a 
man's  work  to  do." 

And  it  soon  appeared  that  she  spoke  true.  I 
watched  every  action,  and  weighed  every  word  of  Mr. 
Lincoln  now,  with  a  str«v»£e  interest.  I  thought  great 
things  depended  on  him.  I  was  glad  when  he  deter 
mined  to  send  supplies  int'*  lort  Snmter.  I  was  sure 
that  he  was  right ;  but  I  held  my  breath  as  it  were  to 
see  what  South  Carolina  wov^  do.  The  twelfth  of 
April  told  us. 

'  So  they  have  done  it,  Daisy  '  *aid  Miss  Cardigan 
that  evening.  '  They  are  doing  k,  -M.her.  They  hav^ 
been  firing  at  each  other  all  day.' 

'  Well,  Major  Anderson  must  defend  Hk1  fort,'  I  saiil 
4  That  is  his  duty.' 

4  No  doubt,'  said  Miss  Cardigan  ;  '  but  you  look  pale, 
Daisy,  my  bairn.  You  are  from  those  quar*f*-«  vour 


404  DAISY. 

self.  Is  there  anybody  in  that  neighborhood  that  is 
dear  to  you  ? ' 

I  had  the  greatest  difficulty  not  to  burst  into  tears, 
by  way  of  answer,  and  Miss  Cardigan  looked  con 
cerned  at  me.  I  told  her  there  was  nobody  there  I 
cared  for  except  some  poor  coloured  people  who  were 
in  no  danger. 

4  There'll  be  many  a  sore  heart  in  the  country  if 
this  goes  on,'  she  said  with  a  sigh. 

'But  it  will  not  go  on,  will  it?'  I  asked.  'They 
cannot  take  Fort  Sumter,  do  you  think  so?' 

4 1  know  little  about  it,'  said  my  friend  soberly.  4 1 
am  no  soldier.  And  we  never  know  what  is  best, 
Daisy.  We  must  trust  the  Lord,  my  dear,  to  unravel 
these  confusions.' 

And  the  next  night  the  little  news  boys  in  the 
streets  were  crying  out  the  4  Fall  of  Fort  Sum — ter ! ' 
It  rang  ominously  in  my  heart.  The  rebels  had  suc 
ceeded  so  far ;  and  they  would  go  on.  Yes,  they 
frould  go  on  now,  I  felt  assured  ;  unless  some  very 
serious  check  should  be  given  them.  Could  the  Yan 
kees  give  that  ?  I  doubted  it.  Yet  their  cause  was  the 
«ause  of  right,  and  justice,  and  humanity ;  but  the 
right  does  not  always  at  first  triumph,  whatever  it  may 
do  in  the  end  ;  and  good  swords,  and  good  shots,  and 
the  spirit  of  a  soldier  are  things  that  are  allowed  to 
carry  their  force  with  them.  I  knew  the  South  had 
these.  What  had  the  North? 

Even  in  our  school  seclusion,  we  felt  the  breath  of 
ehe  tremendous  excitement  which  swayed  the  public 
tm'pd  next  day.  Not  bluster,  nor  even  passion,  but  the 
stir  of  the  people's  heart.  As  we  walked  to  church,  we 
eouM  hear  it  in  half  caught  vrords  of  those  we  passed 


SOUTH  AND   NORTH.  405 

by,  see  it  in  the  grave  intense  air  which  characterized 
groups  and  faces  ;  feel  it  in  the  atmosphere,  which  was 
heavy  with  indignation  and  gathering  purpose.  It  was 
said,  no  Sunday  like  that  had  been  known  in  the  city. 
Within  our  own  little  community,  if  parties  ran  high, 
they  were  like  those  outside,  quiet ;  but  when  alone, 
the  Southern  girls  testified  an  exultation  that  jarred 
painfully  upon  my  ears. 

'  Daisy  don't  care.' 

4  Yes,  I  care,'  I  said. 

4  For  shame  not  to  be  glad  !  You  see,  it  is  glorious. 
We  have  it  all  our  own  way.  The  impertinence  of 
trying  to  hold  our  forts  for  us ! ' 

4 1  don't  see  anything  glorious  in  fighting,'  I  said. 

*  Not  when  you  are  attacked  ? ' 

4  We  were  not  attacked,'  I  said.  4  South  Carolina 
fired  the  first  guns.' 

4  Good  for  her ! '  said  Sally.  4  Brave  little  South 
Carolina !  Nobody  will  meddle  with  her  and  come  off 
without  cutting  his  fingers.' 

4  Nobody  did  meddle  with  her,'  I  asserted.  4  It  was 
she  who  meddled,  to  break  the  laws  and  fight  against 
the  government.' 

4  What  government?'  said  Sally.  4  Are  we  slaves, 
that  we  should  be  ruled  by  a  government  we  don't 
choose  ?  We  will  have  our  own.  Do  you  think  South 
Carolina  and  Virginia  gentlemen  are  going  to  live  under 
a  rail-splitter  for  a  President  ?  and  take  orders  from 
him?' 

4  What  do  you  mean  by  a  44  rail-splitter  "  ? ' 

4 1  mean  this  Abe  Lincoln  the  Northern  mudsills  have 
picked  up  to  make  a  President  of.  He  used  to  get  his 


406  DAISY. 

living  by  splitting  rails  for  a  Western  fence,  Dais} 
Randolph.' 

4  But  if  he  is  President  he  is  President,'  I  said. 

4  For  those  that  like  him.  We  won't  have  him. 
Jefferson  Davis  is  my  President.  And  all  I  can  do  to 
help  him,  I  will.  I  can't  fight ;  I  wish  I  could.  My 
brother  and  my  cousins  and  my  uncle  will,  though, 
that's  one  comfort ;  and  what  I  can  do  I  will.' 

4  Then  I  think  you  are  a  traitor,'  I  said. 

I  was  hated  among  the  Southern  girls  from  that  day. 
Hated  with  a  bitter  violent  hatred,  which  had  indeed 
little  chance  to  shew  itself,  but  was  manifested  in  a 
scornful,  intense  avoidance  of  me.  The  bitterness  of 
it  is  surprising  to  me  even  now.  I  cared  not  very 
much  for  it.  I  was  too  much  engrossed  with  deeper 
interests  of  the  time,  both  public  and  private.  The 
very  next  day  came  the  President's  call  for  seventy- 
five  thousand  men ;  and  the  next  the  answer  of  the 
governor  of  Kentucky,  that  4  Kentucky  would  furnish 
no  troops  for  the  wicked  purpose  of  subduing  her  sister 
Southern  States.'  I  saw  this  in  the  paper  in  the 
library ;  the  other  girls  had  no  access  to  the  general 
daily  news,  or  I  knew  there  would  have  been  shoutings 
of  triumph  over  Gov.  Magoffln.  Other  governors  of 
other  States  followed  his  example.  Jefferson  Davis 
declared  in  a  proclamation  that  letters  of  marque  and 
reprisal  would  be  issued.  Everything  wore  the  aspect 
of  thickening  strife. 

My  heart  grew  very  heavy  over  these  signs  of  evil, 
fearing  I  knew  not  what  for  those  whom  I  cared  about. 
Indeed  I  would  not  stop  to  think  wh'at  1  feared.  I 
tried  to  bury  my  fears  in  my  work.  Letters  from  my 
mother  became  very  explicit  now ;  she  said  that  trouble- 


SOUTH   AND   NORTH.  407 

some  limes  were  coming  in  the  country,  and  she  would 
like  me  to  be  out  of  it.  After  a  little  while,  when  the 
independence  of  the  South  should  be  assured,  we  would 
all  come  home  and  be  happy  together.  Meantime,  as 
soon  after  the  close  of  the  school  year  as  Dr.  Sandford 
could  find  a  good  chance  for  me,  I  was  to  come  out  to 
them  at  Lausanne,  where  my  mother  thought  they 
would  be  by  that  time. 

So  I  studied  with  all  my  strength,  with  the  double 
motive  of  gaining  all  I  could  and  of  forgetting  what 
was  going  on  in  the  political  world.  Music  and  French, 
my  mother  particularly  desired  that  I  should  excel  in ; 
and  I  gave  many  hours  to  my  piano,  as  many  as 
possible,  and  talked  with  Mile.  G'euevieve  whenever 
she  would  let  me.  And  she  was  very  fond  of  me  and 
fond  of  talking  to  me  ;  it  was  she  who  kept  for  me  my 
library  privilege.  And  my  voice  was  good,  as  it  had 
promised  to  be.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  feeling  that  I 
was  succeeding  in  what  I  most  wished  to  attain.  It 
was  succeeding  over  the  heads  of  my  schoolfellows ; 
and  that  earned  me  wages  that  were  not  pleasant 
among  a  portion  of  my  companions.  Faustina  St. 
Clair  was  back  among  us  ;  she  would  perhaps  have 
forgiven  if  she  could  have  forgotten  me  ;  but  my  head 
ship  had  been  declared  ever  since  the  time  of  the 
bronze  standish,  and  even  rivalry  had  been  long  out 
of  the  question.  So  the  old  feud  was  never  healed ; 
and  now  between  the  unfriendliness  of  her  party  and 
the  defection  of  all  the  Southern  girls,  I  was  left  in  a 
great  minority  of  popular  favour.  It  could  not  be 
helped.  I  studied  the  harder.  I  had  unlimited  favour 
with  all  my  teachers,  and  every  indulgence  I  asked 
for. 


408  DAISY. 

The  news  of  the  attack  in  Baltimore  upon  the 
Massachusetts  troops  passing  through  the  city,  and 
Gov.  Andrew's  beautiful  telegram,  shook  me  out  of 
my  preocupation.  It  shook  me  out  of  all  quiet  for  a 
day.  Indignation,  and  fear,  and  sorrow,  rolled  through 
my  heart.  The  passions  that  were  astir  among  men, 
the  mad  results  to  which  they  were  leading,  the  possi 
ble  involvement  of  several  of  those  whom  I  loved,  a 
general  trembling  of  evil  in  the  air,  made  study 
difficult  for  the  moment.  What  signified  the  course 
and  fate  of  nations  hundreds  of  years  ago  ?  Our  own 
course  and  fate  filled  the  horizon.  What  signified  the 
power  or  beauty  of  my  voice,  when  I  had  not  the 
heart  to  send  it  up  and  down  like  a  bird  any  longer? 
Where  was  Preston,  and  Dr.  Sandford,  and  Ransom, 
and  what  would  b3come  of  Magnolia?  In  truth  I  did 
not  know  what  had  become  of  Ransom.  I  had  not 
heard  from  him  or  of  him  in  a  long  time.  But  these 
thoughts  would  not  do.  I  drove  them  away.  I  re 
solved  to  mind  my  work  and  not  read  the  papers,  if  I 
could  help  it,  and  not  think  about  politics  or  my 
friends'  course  in  them,  /could  do  nothing.  And  in  a 
few  months  I  should  be  away,  out  of  the  land. 

I  kept  my  resolve  pretty  well.  Indeed  I  think 
nothing  very  particular  happened  to  disturb  it  for  the 
next  two  or  three  weeks.  I  succeeded  in  filling  my 
bead  with  work  and  being  very  happy  in  it.  That  is, 
whenever  I  could  forget  more  important  things. 


ENTERED    FOR    THE    WAR.  409 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

ENTERED      FOR    THE     WAR. 

ONE  evening,  I  think  before  the  end  of  April,  I 
asked  permission  to  spend  the  evening  at  Miss  Cardi 
gan's.  I  had  on  hand  a  piece  of  study  for  which  I 
wanted  to  consult  certain  books  which  I  knew  were  in 
her  library.  Mile.  Genevieve  gave  me  leave  gladly. 

4  You  do  study  too  persevering,  m'amie,'  she  said. 
'  Go,  and  stop  to  study  for  a  little  while.  You  are 
pale.  I  am  afraid  your  doctor  —  ce  bon  Monsieur  le 
docteur  —  will  scold  us  all  by  and  by.  Go,  and  do 
not  study/ 

But  I  determined  to  have  my  play  and  my  study 
too. 

As  I  passed  through  Miss  Cardigan's  hall,  the  par 
lour  door  standing  half  open  let  me  see  that  a  gentle 
man  was  with  her.  Not  wishing  to  interrupt  any 
business  that  might  be  going  on,  and  not  caring  also 
to  be  bored  with  it  myself,  I  passed  by  and  went 
into  the  inner  room  where  the  books  were.  I  would 
study  now,  I  thought,  and  take  my  pleasure  with  my 
dear  old  friend  by  and  by  when  she  was  at  leisure.  I 
found  my  books,  and  had  thrown  myself  down  on  the 
floor  with  one  of  them ;  when  a  laugh  that  came  from 
the  front  room  laid  a  spell  upon  my  powers  of  study. 
The  book  fell  from  my  hands  ;  I  sat  bolt  upright,  every 
35 


410  DAISY. 

sense  resolved  into  that  of  hearing.  What  and  who 
had  that  been  ?  I  listened.  Another  sound  of  a  word 
spoken,  another  slight  inarticulate  suggestion  of  laugh 
ter  ;  and  I  knew  with  an  assured  knowledge  that  my 
friend  Cadet  Thorold,  and  no  other,  was  the  gentleman 
in  Miss  Cardigan's  parlour  with  whom  she  had  business. 
I  sat  up  and  forgot  my  books.  The  first  impulse  was  to 
go  in  immediately  and  shew  myself.  I  can  hardly  tell 
what  restrained  me.  I  remembered  that  Miss  Cardigan 
must  have  business  with  him  and  I  had  better  not  inter 
rupt  it.  But  those  sounds  of  laughter  had  not  been  very 
business-like  either.  Nor  were  they  business  words 
which  came  to  me  next  through  the  open  door.  I  never 
thought  or  knew  I  was  listening.  I  only  thought  it 
was  Thorold,  and  held  my  breath  to  hear,  or  rather  to 
feel.  My  ears  seemed  sharpened  beyond  all  their 
usual  faculty. 

4  And  you  haven't  gone  and  fallen  in  love,  callant, 
meanwhile,  just  to  complicate  affairs  ?  '  said  the  voice 
of  Miss  Cardigan. 

4 1  shall  never  fall  in  love,*  said  Thorold,  with  (I 
suppose)  mock  gravity.  His  voice  sounded  so. 

'Why  not?' 

4 1  require  too  much.' 

'  It's  like  your  conceit ! '  said  Miss  Cardigan.  '  Now 
what  is  it  that  you  require  ?  I  would  like  to  know ; 
that  is,  if  you  know  yourself.  It  appears  you  have 
thought  about  it.' 

'  I  have  thought,  till  I  have  got  it  all  by  heart,'  said 
Thorold.  4  The  worst  is,  I  shall  never  find  it  in  this 
world.' 

4  That's  likely.  Come,  lad,  paint  your  picture,  and  I'll 
tell  you  if  J  know  where  to  look,'  said  Miss  Cardigan. 


ENTERED   FOR    TEE    WAR.  411 

4  And  then,  you'll  search  for  me  ? ' 

4 1  dinna  ken  if  you  deserve  it,'  said  Miss  Cardigan. 

4 1  don't  deserve  it,  of  course,'  said  Thorold.  'Well 
—  I  have  painted  the  likeness  a  good  many  times. 
The  first  thing  is  a  pair  of  eyes  as  deep  and  grey  as 
our  mountain  lakes.' 

4 1  never  heard  that  your  Vermont  lakes  were  grey,' 
said  Miss  Cardigan. 

4  O  but  they  are  !  when  the  shadow  of  the  mountains 
closes  them  in.  It  is  not  cold  grey,  but  purple  and 
brown,  the  shadow  of  light  as  it  were  ;  the  lake  is  in 
shadow.  Only,  if  a  bit  of  blue  does  shew  itself  there, 
it  is  the  very  Heaven.' 

4 1  hope  it  is  not  going  to  be  in  poetry?  '  said  Miss 
Cardigan's  voice,  sounding  dry  and  amused.  4  What 
is  the  next  thing?  It  is  a  very  good  picture  of  eyes.' 

'The  next  thing  is  a  mouth  that  makes  you  think  of 
nothing  but  kissing  it ;  the  lines  are  so  sweet,  and  so 
mobile,  and  at  the  same  time  so  curiously  subdued. 
A  mouth  that  has  learned  to  smile  when  things  don't 
go  right ;  and  that  has  learned  the  lesson  so  well,  you 
cannot  help  thinking  it  must  have  often  known  things 
go  wrong ;  to  get  the  habit  so  well,  you  know.' 

4  Eh?  —  Why  boy  ! '  —  cried  Miss  Cardigan. 

4 Do  you  know  anybody  like  it?'  said  Thorold 
laughing.  4  If  you  do,  you  are  bound  to  let  me  know 
where,  you  understand.' 

4  What  lies  between  the  eyes  and  mouth  ? '  said  Miss 
Cardigan.  4  There  goes  more  to  a  picture.' 

4  Between  the  eyes  and  mouth/  said  Thorold,  4  there 
is  sense,  and  dignity,  and  delicacy,  and  refinement  to 
a  fastidious  point ;  and  a  world  of  strength  of  charac 
ter  in  the  little  delicate  chin.' 


412  DATST. 

4  Character  —  that  shews  in  the  mouth,'  said  Miss 
Cardigan  slowly. 

*  I  told  you  so,'  said  Thorold.  '  That  is  what  I  told 
you.  Truth,  and  love,  and  gentleness,  all  sit  within 
those  little  red  lips  ;  and  a  great  strength  of  will,  which 
you  cannot  help  thinking  has  borne  something  to  try 
it.  The  brow  is  like  one  of  our  snowy  mountain  tops 
with  the  sun  shining  on  it.' 

'And  the  lady's  figure  is  like  a  pine  tree,  isn't  it? 
It  sounds  gay  as  if  you'd  fallen  in  love  with  Nature, 
and  so  personified  and  imaged  her  in  human  likeness. 
Is  it  real  humanity  ? ' 

Thorold  laughed  his  gay  laugh.  '  The  pine  tree  will 
do  excellently,  aunt  Catherine,'  he  said.  '  No  better 
embodiment  of  statel}7  grace  could  be  found/ 

My  ears  tingled.  'Aunt  Catherine?'  aunt!  then 
Thorold  must  be  her  relation,  her  nephew  ;  then  he  was 
not  come  on  business  ;  then  he  would  stay  to  tea.  I 
might  as  well  shew  myself.  But,  I  thought,  if  Thorold 
had  some  other  lady  so  much  in  his  mind,  (  for  I  was 
sure  his  picture  must  be  a  portrait)  he  would  not  care 
so  very  much  about  seeing  me,  as  I  had  at  first  fan 
cied  he  would.  However,  I  could  not  go  away  ;  so  I 
might  as  well  go  in ;  it  would  not  do  to  wait  longer. 
The  evening  had  quite  fallen  now.  It  was  April,  as  I 
said,  but  a  cold  raw  spring  day,  and  had  been  like  that 
for  several  days.  Houses  were  chill ;  and  in  Miss  Car 
digan's  grate  a  fine  fire  of  Kennal  coals  was  blazing, 
making  its  red  illumination  all  over  the  room  and  the 
two  figures  who  sat  in  front  of  it.  She  had  had  a 
grate  put  in  this  winter.  There  was  no  other  light, 
only  that  soft  red  glow  and  gloom,  under  favour  of 
which  I  went  in  and  stood  almost  beside  them  before 


ENTERED    FOR   THE    WAR.  413 

they  perceived  me.  I  did  not  speak  to  Miss  Cardigan. 
I  remember  my  words  were,  '  How  do  you  do,  Mr. 
Thorold?'  —  in  a  very  quiet  kind  of  a  voice  ;  for  I  did 
not  now  expect  him  to  be  very  glad.  But  I  was  sur 
prised  at  the  change  my  words  made.  He  sprang  up, 
his  eyes  flashing  a  sort  of  shower  of  sparks  over  me, 
gladness  in  every  line  of  his  face,  and  surprise,  and  a 
kind  of  inexpressible  deference  in  his  manner. 

4  Daisy  ! '  —  he  exclaimed  —  4  Miss  Randolph  ! ' 

1  Daisy  ! '  echoed  Miss  Cardigan.  4  My  dear  !  —  do 
you  two  know  each  other  ?  Where  did  you  come  from  ? ' 
•  I  think  I  did  not  answer.  I  am  sure  Thorold  did 
not.  He  was  caring  for  me,  placing  his  chair  nearer 
his  aunt  and  putting  me  into  it,  before  he  let  go  the 
hand  he  had  taken.  Then  drawing  up  another  chair 
on  the  other  side  of  me,  he  sat  down  and  looked  at  me 
(I  thought  afterward,  I  only  felt  at  the  moment)  as  if 
I  had  been  some  precious  wonder;  the  Koh-i-noor  dia 
mond,  or  anything  of  that  sort. 

1  Where  did  you  come  from  ? '  was  his  first  question. 

4 1  have  been  in  the  house  a  little  while,'  I  said.  4 1 
thought  at  first  Miss  Carttigan  had  somebody  with  her 
on  business,  so  I  would  not  come  in.' 

4  It  is  quite  true,  Dais}','  said  Miss  Cardigan  ;  4  it  is 
somebody  on  business/ 

4  Nothing  private  about  it,  though,'  said  Thorold, 
smiling  at  me.  4  But  where  in  the  world  did  you  and 
aunt  Catherine  come  together?  ' 

4  And  what  call  have  ye  to  search  into  it? '  said  Miss 
Cardigan's  good-humoured  voice.  4 1  know  a  great 
man}'  bodies,  callant,  that  3~ou  know  not.' 

4 1  know  this  one  though,'  said  Thorold.  '  Miss  Ran 
dolph —  won't  you  speak?  for  aunt  Catherine  is  in  no 
35* 


414  DAISY. 

mood  to  let  me.  Have  you  two  known  each  other 
long  ? ' 

'  It  seems  long,'  I  said.     'It  is  not  very  long. 

4  Since  before  last  summer?' 

4  Certainly ! ' 

4  If  that's  the  date  of  your  acquaintanceship,'  said 
Miss  Cardigan,  '  we're  auld  friends  to  that.  Is  all 
well,  Daisy? ' 

'  All  quite  well,  ma'am.  I  came  to  do  a  bit  of  study 
I  wanted  in  your  books,  and  to  have  a  nice  time  with 
you,  besides.' 

4  And  here  is  this  fellow  i-n  the  way.  But  we  cannot 
turn  him  out,  Daisy  ;  he  is  going  fast  enough  ;  on  what 
errand,  do  you  think,  is  he  bent?' 

I  had  not  thought  about  it  till  that  minute.  Some 
thing,  some  thread  of  the  serious,  in  Miss  Cardigan's 
voice  made  me  look  suddenly  at  Thorold.  He  had 
turned  his  eyes  away  from  me  and  had  bent  them  upon 
the  fire,  all  merriment  gone  out  of  his  face  too.  It  was 
thoroughly  grave. 

4  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Mr.  Thorold? '   I  asked. 

4  Do  you  remember  a  talk 'we  had  down  on  Flirtation 
walk  one  day  last  summer,  when  you  asked  me  about 
possible  political  movements  at  the  South,  and  I  asked 
you  what  you  would  do  ? ' 

4  Yes,'  I  said,  my  heart  sinking. 

*  The  time  has  come,'  he  said,  facing  round  upon 
me. 

4  And  you  — ' 

4 1  shall  be  on  my  way  to  Washington  in  a  few  da}'s. 
Men  are  wanted  now  —  all  the  men  that  have  any 
knowledge  to  be  useful.  I  may  not  be  very  useful. 
But  I  am  going  to  try.' 


ENTERED    FOR    THE    WAR.  415 

'  I  thought,'  —  it  was  not  quite  easy  to  speak,  for  I 
was  struggling  with  something  which  threatened  to 
roughen  my  voice,  —  '  I  thought,  you  did  not  graduate 
till  June?' 

4  Not  regularly ;  not  usually  ;  but  things  are  extraor 
dinary  this  year.  We  graduate  and  go  on  to  Wash 
ington  at  once.' 

I  believe  we  were  all  silent  a  few  minutes. 

4  Daisy,'  said  Miss  Cardigan,  4  you  have  nobody  that 
is  dear  to  you,  likely  to  be  engaged  in  the  fray  —  if 
there  is  one?' 

*  I  don't  know,  — '  I  said  rather  faintly.  I  remem 
ber  I  said  it ;  I  cannot  tell  why,  for  I  did  know,  I 
knew  that  Preston  and  Ransom  were  both  likely  to  be 
in  the  struggle,  even  if  Ransom  had  been  at  the  mo 
ment  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  world.  But  then 
Thorold  roused  up  and  began  to  talk.  He  talked  to 
divert  us,  I  think.  He  told  us  of  things  that  concerned 
himself  and  his  class  personally,  giving  details  to  which 
we  listened  eagerly ;  and  he  went  on  from  them  to  things 
and  people  in  the  public  line,  of  which  and  of  whom 
neither  Miss  Cardigan  nor  I  had  known  the  thousandth 
part  so  much  before.  We  sat  and  listened,  Miss  Car 
digan  often  putting  in  a  question,  while  the  warm  still 
glow  of  the  firelight  shed  over  us  and  all  the  room  its 
assurance  of  peace  and  quiet,  woven  and  compounded 
of  life-long  associations.  Thorold  sat  before  us  and 
talked,  and  we  looked  at  him  and  listened  in  the  fire- 
shine  ;  and  my  thoughts  made  swift  sicleway  flights 
every  now  and  then  from  this  peace  and  glow  of  com 
fort,  and  from  Thorold' s  talk,  to  the  changes  of  the 
camp  and  the  possible  coming  strife ;  spectres  of  war, 
guns  and  swords,  exposure  and  wounds  —  and  sick 


416  DAISY. 

ness — and  the  battlefield  —  what  could  I  tell?  and 
Miss  Cardigan's  servant  put  another  lump  of  coal  on 
the  fire,  and  Thorold  presently  broke  it,  and  the  jet  of 
illumination  sprang  forth,  mocking  and  yet  revealing 
in  its  sweet  home  glow  my  visions  of  terror.  They 
were  but  momentary  visions ;  I  could  not  bear  of 
course  to  look  steadily  at  them ;  they  were  spectres 
that  came  and  went  with  a  wave  of  a  hand,  in  a  jet 
of  flame,  or  the  shadow  of  an  opening  door  ;  but  they 
went,  and  came ;  and  I  saw  many  things  in  Thorold's 
face  that  night  beside  the  manly  lines  of  determination 
and  spirit,  the  look  of  thought  and  power,  and  the 
hover  of  light  in  his  eye  when  it  turned  to  me.  I  don't 
know  what  Miss  Cardigan  saw ;  but  several  times  in 
the  evening  I  heard  her  sigh ;  a  thing  very  unusual 
and  notable  with  her.  Again  and  again  I  heard  it,  a 
soft  long  breath. 

I  gave  it  no  heed  at  the  time.  My  eyes  and  thoughts 
were  fixed  on  the  other  member  of  the  party ;  and  I 
was  like  one  in  a  dream.  I  walked  in  a  dream ;  till 
we  went  into  the  other  room  to  tea,  and  I  heard  Miss 
Cardigan  say,  addressing  her  nephew, 

'  Sit  there,  Christian.' 

I  was  like  one  in  a  dream,  or  I  should  have  known 
what  this  meant.  I  did  know,  two  minutes  afterwards. 
But  at  the  moment,  falling  in  with  some  of  my  thoughts, 
the  word  made  me  start  and  look  at  Thorold.  I  can 
not  tell  what  was  in  my  look ;  I  know  what  was  in  my 
heart;  the  surprised  inquiry  and  the  yearning  wish. 
Thorold's  face  flushed.  He  met  my  eyes  with  an  in 
tense  recognition  and  inquiry  in  his  own,  and  then,  I 
am  almost  sure,  his  were  dim.  He  set  my  chair  for 


ENTERED   FOR    THE    WAR.  417 

me  at  the  table,  and  took  hold  of  me  and  put  ine  in  it 
with  a  very  gentle  touch  that  seemed  to  thank  me. 

;  That  is  my  name,  Miss  Randolph,'  he  said,  — '  the 
name  given  me  b}  my  parents.' 

*  You'll  earn  it  yet,  boy,'  said  Miss  Cardigan.  '  But 
the  sooner  the  better.' 

There  was  after  that  a  very  deep  gravity  upon  us  all 
for  the  first  minutes  at  table.  I  wondered  to  myself, 
how  people  can  go  on  drinking  tea  and  eating  bread  and 
butter  through  everything  ;  yet  they  must,  and  even  I 
was  doing  it  at  the  moment,  and  not  willing  to  forego 
the  occupation.  By  degrees  the  wonted  course  of 
things  relieved  our  minds,  which  were  upon  too  high  a 
strain.  It  appeared  that  Thorold  was  very  hungry, 
having  missed  his  dinner  somehow ;  and  his  aunt 
ordered  up  everything  in  the  house  for  his  comfort,  in 
which  I  suppose  she  found  her  own.  And  then  Tho 
rold  made  me  eat  with  him.  I  was  sure  I  did  not  want 
it,  but  that  made  no  difference.  Things  were  pre 
pared  for  me  and  put  upon  my  plate,  and  a  soft  little 
command  laid  on  me  to  do  with  them  what  I  was 
expected  to  do.  It  was  not  like  the  way  Dr.  Sandford 
used  to  order  me,  nor  in  the  least  like  Preston's  imperi- 
ousness  which  I  could  withstand  well  enough ;  there 
was  something  in  it  which  nullified  all  my  power  and 
even  will  to  resist,  and  I  was  as  submissive  as  possi 
ble.  Thorold  grew  very  bright  again  as  the  meal  went 
on,  and  began  to  talk  in  a  somewhat  livelier  strain 
than  he  had  been  in  before  tea ;  and  I  believe  he  did 
wile  both  his  aunt  and  me  out  of  the  sad  or  grave 
thoughts  we  had  been  indulging.  I  know  that  I  was 
obliged  to  laugh,  as  I  was  obliged  to  eat.  Thorold 
had  his  own  way,  and  seemed  to  like  it.  Even  his 


418  DAISY. 

aunt  was  amused  and  interested,  and  grew  lively,  like 
herself.  With  all  that,  through  the  whole  supper-time 
I  had  an  odd  feeling  of  her  being  on  one  side ;  it 
seemed  to  be  only  Thorolcl  and  I  really  there  ;  and  in 
all  Thorolcl  was  doing  and  through  all  he  was  talking, 
I  had  a  curious  sense  that  he  was  occupied  only  with 
me.  It  was  not  that  he  said  so  much  directly  to  me  or 
looked  so  much  at  me ;  I  do  not  know  how  I  got  the 
feeling.  There  was  Miss  Cardigan  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  busy  and  talking  as  usual,  clever  and  kind  ; 
yet  the  air  seemed  to  be  breathed  only  by  Thorold 
and  me. 

4  And  how  soon,  lad/  Miss  Cardigan  broke  out  sud 
denly,  when  a  moment's  lull  in  the  talk  had  given 
her  a  chance,  4  how  soon  will  ye  be  off  to  that  region 
of  disturbance  whither  ye  are  going?' 

'Washington?'  said  Thorold.  'Just  as  soon  as  our 
examination  can  be  pushed  through ;  —  in  a  very 
few  days  now.' 

1  You'll  come  to  me  by  the  way,  for  another  look  at 
you,  in  your  officer's  uniform  ?  ' 

4  Uniform  ?  nobody  will  have  any  uniform,  I  fancy/ 
said  Thorold,  l  nobody  has  any  time  to  think  of  that. 
No,  aunt  Catherine,  and  I  shall  not  see  you,  either. 
I  expect  we  shall  rush  through  without  the  loss  of  a 
train.  I  can't  stop.  I  don't  care  what  clothes  I  wear 
to  get  there/ 

4  How  came  you  to  be  here  now,  if  you  are  in  such 
a  hurry?' 

4  Nothing  on  earth  would  have  brought  me,  but  the 
thing  that  did  bring  me,'  said  Thorold.  '  I  was  sub- 
pcena'd  down,  to  give  my  evidence  in  a  trial.  I  must 
get  back  again  without  loss  of  a  minute  ;  should  have 


ENTERED   FOR    THE    WAR  419 

gone  to-night,  if  there  had  been  a  train  that  stopped. 
I  am  very  glad  there  was  no  train  that  stopped  ! ' 

We  were  all  silent  for  a  minute ;  till  the  door  bell 
rang,  and  the  servant  came  announcing  Mr.  Bunsen, 
to  see  Miss  Cardigan  about  the  tenant  houses.  Miss 
Cardigan  went  off  through  the  open  doors  that  led  to 
the  front  parlour ;  and  standing  by  the  fire,  I  watched 
her  figure  diminishing  in  the  long  distance  till  it  passed 
into  Mr.  Bunsen's  presence  and  disappeared.  Mr. 
Thorold  and  I  stood  silently  on  either  side  of  the  hearth, 
looking  into  the  fire,  while  the  servant  was  clearing  the 
table.  The  cheerful,  hospitable  little  table,  round  which 
we  had  been  so  cheerful  at  least  for  the  moment,  was 
dismantled  already,  and  the  wonted  cold  gleam  of  the 
mahogany  seemed  to  tell  me  that  cheer  was  all  over. 
The  talk  of  the  uniform  had  overset  me.  All  sorts 
of  visions  of  what  it  signified,  what  it  portended, 
where  it  would  go,  what  it  would  be  doing,  were 
knocking  at  the  door  of  my  heart  and  putting  their 
heads  in.  Before  tea  these  visions  had  come  and  van 
ished  ;  often  enough  to  be  sure ;  now  they"  came  and 
stayed.  I  was  very  quiet,  I  am  certain  of  that ;  I  was 
as  certainly  very  sober,  with  a  great  and  growing  sad 
ness  at  my  heart.  I  think  Thorold  was  grave  too, 
though  I  hardly  looked  at  him.  "We  did  not  speak  to 
each  other,  all  the  time  the  servant  was  busy  in  the 
room.  We  stood  silent  before  the  fire.  The  study  I 
had  come  to  do  had  all  passed  away  out  of  my  mind, 
though  the  books  were  within  three  feet  of  me.  I  was 
growing  sadder  and  sadder  every  minute. 

4  Things  have  changed,  since  we  talked  so  lightly 
last  summer  of  what  might  be/  —  Thorold  said  at  last. 


420  DAIS  Y. 

And  he  said  it  in  a  meditative  way,  as  if  he  were  pon 
dering  something. 

4  Yes '  —  I  assented. 

4  The  North  does  not  wish  for  war.  The  South  have 
brought  it  upon  themselves/ 

'  Yes J  —  I  said  again  ;  wondering  a  little  what  was 
coming. 

4  However  disagreeable  my  duty  may  be,  it  is  my 
duty ;  and  there  is  no  shirking  it/ 

4  No/  I  said.     4  Of  course/ 

4  And  if  your  friends  are  on  one  side  and  I  on  the 
other,  —  it  is  not  my  fault,  Miss  Randolph/ 

4  No,'  I  said  ;  «  riot  at  all/ 

4  Then  you  do  not  blame  me  for  taking  the  part  I 
must  take  ? ' 

4  No/  I  said.     4  You  must  take  it/ 

4 Are  you  sorry  I  take  it?'  said  Thorold  with  a 
change  of  tone,  and  coming  a  step  nearer. 

4  Sorry?'  I  said;  and  I  looked  up  for  an  instant. 
4  No  ;  how  could  I  be  sorry  ?  It  is  your  duty.  It  is 
right/  But  as  I  looked  down  again  I  had  the  greatest 
difficulty  not  to  burst  into  tears.  I  felt  as  though  my 
heart  would  break  in  two  with  its  burden  of  pain.  It 
cost  a  great  effort  to  stand  still  and  quiet,  without 
shewing  anything. 

4  What  is  it  then  ? '  said  Thorold  ;  and  with  the  next 
words  I  knew  he  had  come  close  to  my  side  and  was 
stooping  his  head  down  to  my  face,  while  his  voice 
dropped.  4  What  is  it,  Daisy  ?  —  Is  it  —  O  Daisy, 
I  love  you  better  than  anything  else  in  the  world,  ex 
cept  my  duty  ;  —  Daisy,  do  you  love  me  ? ' 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  impossible  to  me,  I 
think  than  to  answer  a  word  ;  but  indeed  Thorold  did 


ENTERED    FOR    THE    WAR.  421 

•not  seem  to  want  it.  As  he  questioned  me,  he  had  put 
his  arm  round  me  and  drawn  me  nearer  and  nearer, 
stooping  his  face  to  me,  till  his  lips  took  their  own 
answer  at  mine  ;  indeed  took  answer  after  answer,  and 
then  in  a  sort  of  passion  of  mute  joy  kissed  my  face 
all  over.  I  could  not  forbid  him  ;  between  excitement 
and  sorrow  and  happiness  and  shame,  I  could  do  noth 
ing  ;  the  best  I  could  do  was  to  hide  my  face,  but  the 
breast  of  that  grey  coat  was  a  strange  hiding  place 
for  it.  With  that  inconsistent  mingling  of  small 
things  with  great  in  one's  perceptions,  which  every 
body  knows,  I  remember  the  soft  feel  of  the  fine 
grey  cloth  along  with  the  clasp  of  Thorold's  arms  and 
the  touch  of  his  cheek  resting  upon  my  hair.  And  we 
stood  so,  quite  still,  for  what  seemed  both  a  long  and 
a  short  time,  in  which  I  think  happiness  got  the  upper 
hand  with  me,  and  pain  for  the  moment  was  bid  into 
the  background.  At  last  Thorold  raised  his  head  and 
bade  me  lift  up  mine. 

1  Look  up,  darling,'  he  said ;  i  look  up,  Daisy !  let 
me  see  your  face.  Look  up,  Daisy  —  we  have  only  a 
minute,  and  everything  in  the  world  to  say  to  each 
other.  Daisy  —  I  want  to  see  you.' 

I  think  it  was  one  of  the  most  difficult  little  things  I 
ever  had  in  my  life  to  do,  to  raise  my  face  and  let  him 
look  at  it ;  but  I  knew  it  must  be  done,  and  I  did  it. 
One  glance  at  his  I  ventured.  He  was  smiling  at  me  ; 
there  was  a  flush  upon  his  cheek ;  his  eye  had  a  light 
in  it,  and  with  that  a  glow  of  tenderness  which  was 
different  from  anything  I  had  ever  seen  ;  and  it  was 
glittering  too  I  think  with  another  sort  of  suffusion. 
His  hand  came  smoothing  down  my  hair  and  then 
touching  my  cheek  while  he  looked  at  me. 

36 


422  DAISY. 

4  What  arc  you  going  to  do  with  yourself  now  ? '  he 
said  softly. 

4 1  am  going  on  with  my  studies  for  another  month 
or  two.' — 

4  And  3rou  belong  to  me,  Daisy?' 

1  Yes/ 

He  bent  his  head  and  kissed  my  brow.  There  is  an 
odd  difference  of  effect  between  a  kiss  on  the  lips  and 
on  the  forehead,  or  else  it  was  a  difference  in  the  man 
ner.  This  seemed  a  sort  of  taking  possession  or  setting 
a  seal ;  and  it  gave  me  a  new  feeling  of  something 
almost  like  awe,  which  I  had  never  associated  with  the 
grey  coat  or  with  its  wearer  before.  Along  with  that 
came  another  impression,  that  I  suppose  most  women 
know  and  know  how  sweet  it  is ;  the  sense  of  an 
enveloping  protection.  Not  that  I  had  not  been  pro 
tected  all  my  life  ;  but  my  mother's  had  been  the  pro 
tection  of  authority ;  my  father's  also  in  some  meas 
ure  ;  Dr.  Sandford's  was  emphatically  that  of  a 
guardian;  he  guarded  me  a  little  too  well.  But 
this  new  thing  that  was  stealing  into  my  heart  with  its 
subtle  delight,  was  the  protection  of  a  champion  ;  of 
one  who  set  me  and  mine  above  all  other  interests  or 
claims  in  the  world,  and  who  would  guard  me  as  if  he 
were  a  part  of  nryself,  only  stronger.  Altogether 
Thorold  seemed  to  me  different  from  what  he  had  been 
the  last  summer  ;  there  was  a  gravity  now  in  his  face 
and  air  at  times  that  was  new  and  even  stern  ;  the 
gravity  of  a  man  taking  stern  life  work  upon  him.  I 
felt  all  this  in  a  minute,  while  Thorold  was  smiling 
down  into  my  face. 

4  And  you  will  write  to  me  ? '  he  said. 

4  Yes/ 


ENTERED   FOR    THE    WAR.  423 

*  And  I  will  write  to  you.  And  I  belong  to  you, 
Daisy,  and  to  no  other.  All  I  have  is  yours,  and  all 
that  I  am  is  yours,  —  after  my  duty  ;  you  may  dispose 
of  me,  pretty  one,  just  as  3rou  like.  You  would  not 
have  that  put  second,  Daisy.' 

A  great  yearning  came  over  me,  so  great  and  strong 
that  it  almost  took  away  my  breath.  I  fancy  it  spoke 
in  my  eyes,  for  Thorold's  face  grew  very  grave,  I 
remember,  as  he  looked  at  me.  But  I  must  speak  it 
more  plainly  than  so,  at  any  costs,  breath  or  no 
breath,  and  I  must  not  wait. 

'  Christian,'  I  whispered,  — • i  won't  you  earn  your 
right  to  your  name?' 

He  pressed  his  lips  upon  mine  by  way  of  answer 
first,  and  then  gave  me  a  quick  and  firm  '  Yes.'  I 
certainly  thought  he  had  found  the  mouth  he  was 
talking  of  a  little  while  ago.  But  at  that  instant  the 
sound  of  the  distant  house  door  closing  and  then  of 
steps  coming  out  from  the  parlour,  made  me  know  that 
Miss  Cardigan's  business  was  over  and  that  she  was 
returning  to  us.  I  wanted  to  free  myself  from  Tho 
rold's  arm,  but  he  would  not  let  me  ;  on  the  contrary 
held  me  closer,  and  half  turned  to  meet  Miss  Cardigan 
as  she  came  in.  Certainly  men  are  very  different 
from  women.  There  we  stood  awaiting  her  ;  and  I  felt 
very  much  ashamed. 

4  Come  on,  aunt  Catherine,'  Thorold  said  as  she 
paused  at  the  door,  —  '  come  in  !  Come  in  and  kiss 
her ;  this  little  darling  is  mine.' 

Miss  Cardigan  came  in  slowly.  I  could  not  look 
up. 

'  Kiss  her,  aunt  Catherine,'  he  repeated ;  '  she  is 
mine.' 


424  DAISY. 

And  to  my  great  dismay  he  set  her  the  example  • 
but  I  think  it  was  partly  to  reassure  me  and  cover  my 
confusion,  which  he  saw. 

4 1  have  kissed  Daisy  very  often  before  now,'  said 
Miss  Cardigan.  I  thought  I  discerned  some  concern 
in  her  voice. 

4  Then  come,  do  it  again,'  said  Thorold  laughing. 
4  You  never  kissed  her  as  anything  belonging  to  me, 
aunt  Catherine.' 

And  he  fairly  laid  me  in  Miss  Cardigan's  arms,  till 
we  kissed  each  other  as  he  desired.  But  Miss  Cardi 
gan's  gravity  roused  me  out  of  my  confusion.  I  was 
not  ashamed  before  her  ;  only  before  him. 

4  Now,  aunt  Catherine,'  he  said,  pulling  up  a  com 
fortable  arm  chair  to  the  corner  of  the  hearth,  — 4  sit 
there.  And  Daisy, — come  here!' 

He  put  me  into  the  fellow  chair ;  and  then  built  up 
the  wood  in  the  fireplace  till  we  had  a  regular  illu 
mination.  Then  drew  himself  up  before  the  fire  and 

looked  at  his  aunt. 

• 

4  It's  like  you ! '  broke  out  Miss  Cardigan.  ;  Ever 
since  you  were  born,  I  think,  you  did  what  you  liked 
and  had  what  you  liked  ;  and  threw  over  everything  to 
get  at  the  best.' 

A  On  the  contrary,'  said  Thorold,  4 1  was  always  of  a 
very  contented  disposition.' 

'  Contented  with  your  own  will,  then,'  said  his  aunt. 
4  And  now,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  have  got 
this  prize  —  this  prize  —  it's  a  first-class,  Christian  — 
for  good  and  for  certain  to  yourself  ? ' 

I  lifted  my  eyes  one  instant,  to  see  the  sparkles  in 
Thorold's  eyes  ;  they  were  worth  seeing. 


ENTERED   FOR   THE    WAR.  425 

*  You  don't  think  you  deserve  it  ? '  Miss  Cardigan 
went  on. 

4  I  do  not  think  I  deserve  it,'  said  Thorold.  4  But  I 
think  I  will.' 

4 1  know  what  that  means,'  said  his  aunt.  4Xou 
will  get  worldly  glory — just  a  bit  or  two  more  of 
gold  on  your  coat  —  to  match  you  with  one  of  the 
Lord's  jewels,  that  are  to  be  "  all  glorious  within ; " 
and  you  think  that  will  fit  you  to  own  her.' 

4  Aunt  Catherine,'  said  Thorold,  '  I  do  not  precisely 
think  that  gold  lace  is  glory.  But  I  mean  that  I  will 
do  my  duty.  A  man  can  do  no  more.' 

*  Some  would  have  said,  "  a  man  can  do  no  less," ' 
said  Miss  Cardigan  turning  to  me.  '  But  you  are  right, 
lad ;  more  than  our  duty  we  can  none  of  us  do ;  where 
all  is  owing,  less  will  not  be  overpay.     But  whatever 
do  you  think  her  father  will  say  to  you  ? ' 

4 1  will  ask  him,  when  the  time  comes,'  said  Thorold, 
contentedly.  His  tone  was  perfect;  both  modest  and 
manly.  Truth  to  say,  I  could  not  quite  share  his  con 
tent,  in  looking  forward  to  the  time  he  spoke  of;  but 
that  was  far  ahead,  and  it  was  impossible  not  to 
share  his  confidence.  My  father  and  my  mother  had 
been  practically  not  my  guardians  during  six  and  a 
half  long  years  ;  I  had  got  out  of  the  habit  of  looking 
first  to  them. 

4  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  now  in  Washing 
ton  ? '  said  his  aunt.  4  You  may  as  weel  sit  down  and 
tell  us.' 

4 1  don't  know.  Probably  I  shall  be  put  to  drill  new 
recruits.  All  these  seventy-five  thousand  men  that  the 
President  has  called  for,  won't  know  how  to  handle  a 
gun  or  do  anything  else.' 


426  DAISY. 

4  And  what  is  he  going  to  do  with  tht  se  seventy-five 
thousand  men,  Christian?' 

4  Put  down  treason,  if  he  can.  Don't  JTOU  realize  }ret 
that  we  have  a  civil  war  on  our  hands,  aunt  Catherine? 
The  Southern  State's  are  mustering  and  sending  their 
forces  ;  we  must  meet  them,  or  give  up  the  whole  ques 
tion  ;  that  is,  give  up  the  Country/ 

4  And  what  is  it  that  they  will  try  to  do  ?  '  said  Miss 
Cardigan.  4  It  is  a  mystery  to  me  what  they  want ; 
but  I  suppose  I  know ;  onl}r  bad  men  are  a  mystery  to 
me  always/ 

4  They  will  try  to  defy  the  laws/  said  Thorold. 
*  We  will  try  to  see  them  executed.' 

4  They  seem  very  fierce,'  said  Miss  Cardigan  ;  4  to 
judge  by  what  they  say.' 

*  And  do,'  added  Thorold.  4 1  think  there  is  a  sort 
of  madness  in  Southern  blood  ! ' 

He  spoke  with  a  manner  of  disgustful  emphasis.  I 
looked  up  at  him,  to  see  an  expression  quite  in  keeping 
with  his  words.  Miss  Cardigan  cried  out, 

4  He}-,  lad  !  ye're  confident,  surely,  to  venture  your 
opinions  so  plainly  and  so  soon  ! ' 

His  face  changed,  as  if  sunlight  had  been  suddenly 
poured  over  it.  He  came  kneeling  on  one  knee  before 
me,  taking  my  hand  and  kissing  it,  and  laughing. 

4  And  1  see  }re're  not  confident  without  reason ! ' 
added  Miss  Cardigan.  *  Daisy'll  just  let  ye  say  }^our 
mind,  and  no  punish  you  for  it.' 

4  But  it  is  true,  Miss  Cardigan,'  —  I  said  turning  to 
her.  I  wished  I  had  held  my  tongue  the  next  minute, 
for  the  words  were  taken  off  my  lips,  as  it  were.  It  is 
something  quite  different  from  eating  your  own  words, 


ENTERED   FOR    THE    WAR.  427 

which  I  have  heard  of  as  not  pleasant ;  mine  seemed 
to  be  devoured  by  somebody  else. 

4  But  is  it  true  they  are  coming  to  attack  Washing 
ton?'  Miss  Cardigan  went  on,  when  we  had  all  done 
laughing.  '  I  read  it  in  the  prints ;  and  it  seems  to 
me  I  read  every  other  thing  there.' 

4 1  am  afraid  you  read  too  many  prints,'  said  Tho- 
rold.  '  You  are  thinking  of  u  hear  both  sides,"  aunt 
Catherine  ?  —  you  must  know  there  is  but  one  side  to 
this  matter.  There  never  are  two  sides  to  treason.* 

4  That's  true/  said  Miss  Cardigan.  '  But  about 
Washington,  lad?  I  saw  an  extract  from  a  letter 
written  from  that  cit3r,  by  a  lady,  and  she  said  the 
place  was  in  terror ;  she  said  the  President  sleeps  with 
a  hundred  men,  armed,  in  the  east  room,  to  protect  him 
from  the  Southern  army  ;  and  keeps  a  sentinel  before 
his  bedroom  door ;  and  often  goes  clean  out  of  the 
White  House  and  sleeps  somewhere  else,  in  his  fear.' 

I  had  never  seen  Thorold  laugh  as  he  did  then. 
And  he  asked  his  aunt  l  where  she  had  seen  that  ex 
tract?' 

*  It  was  in  one  of  the  papers  —  it  was  in  an  extract 
itself,  I'm  thinking.' 

*  From  a  Southern  paper,'  said  Thorold. 
4  Well,  I  believe  it  was.' 

4 1  have  seen  extracts  too,'  said  Thorold.  4  They 
say,  Alexander  H.  Stephens  is  counselling  the  rebels 
to  lay  hold  on  Washington.' 

4  Well,  sit  down  and  tell  us  what  you  do  know,  and 
how  to  understand  things  ! '  said  Miss  Cardigan.  <  I 
don't  talk  to  anybody,  much,  about  politics.' 

So  Thorold  did  as  he  was  asked.  He  sat  down  on 
the  other  side  of  me,  and  with  my  hand  in  his,  talked 


428  DAISY. 

to  us  both.  We  went  over  the  whole  ground  of  the  few 
months  past,  of  the  work  then  doing  and  preparing,  of 
what  might  reasonably  be  looked  for  in  both  the  South 
and  the  North.  He  said  he  was  not  very  wise  in  the 
matter ;  but  he  was  infinitely  more  informed  than  we  ; 
and  we  listened  as  to  the  most  absorbing  of  all  tales, 
till  the  night  was  far  worn.  A  sense  of  the  gravity 
and  importance  of  the  crisis  ;  a  consciousness  that  we 
were  embarked  in  a  contest  of  the  most  stubborn  char 
acter,  the  end  of  which  no  man  might  foretell,  pressed 
itself  more  and  more  on  my  mind  as  the  night  and  the 
talk  grew  deeper.  If  I  may  judge  from  the  changes 
in  Miss  Cardigan's  face,  it  was  the  same  with  her. 
The  conclusion  was,  the  North  was  gathering  and  con 
centrating  all  her  forces  to  meet  the  trial  that  was 
coming ;  and  the  young  officers  of  the  graduating  class 
at  the  Military  Academy  had  been  ordered  to  the  seat 
of  war  a  little  before  their  time  of  study  was  out ;  their 
help  being  urgently  needed. 

4  And  where  is  Preston?'  said  I,  speaking  for  the 
first  time  in  a  long  while. 

4  Preston  ?  '  —  echoed  Thorold. 

4  My  cousin  Preston,  —  Gary  ;  your  classmate  Gary/ 

4  Gary  !  —  O,  he  is  going  to  Washington,  like  the 
rest  of  us/ 

4  Which  side  will  he  take  ? ' 

4  You  should  know,  perhaps,  better  than  I,'  said 
Thorold.  '  He  always  has  taken  the  Southern  side, 
and  very  exclusively.' 

4  Has  taken  ?  '  said  I.  4  Do  you  mean  that  among 
the  cadets,  there  has  been  a  South  and  a  North  —  un 
til  now  lately  ? ' 

4  Ay,  Daisy,  always,  since  I  have  been  in  the  Acad- 


ENTERED    FOR    TEE    WAR.  429 

emy.  The  Southern  clique  and  the  Northern  clique 
have  been  well  defined ;  there  is  always  an  assumption 
of  superiority  on  the  one  side,  and  some  resenting  of  it 
on  the  other  side.  It  was  on  that  ground  Gary  and  I 
split.' 

'  Split ! '  I  repeated. 

But  Thorold  laughed  and  kissed  me,  and  would  give 
me  no  satisfaction.  I  began  to  put  things  together 
though.  I  saw  from  Christian's  eyes  that  he  had  noth 
ing  to  be  ashamed  of,  in  looking  back  ;  I  remembered 
Preston's  virulence,  and  his  sudden  flush  when  some 
body  had  repeated  the  word  l  coward/  which  he  had 
applied  to  Thorold.  I  felt  certain  that  more  had  been 
between  them  than  mere  words,  and  that  Preston 
found  the  recollection  not  flattering,  whatever  it  was  ; 
and  having  come  to  this  settlement  of  the  matter  I 
looked  up  at  Thorold. 

1  My  gentle  little  Daisy ! '  he  said.  '  I  will  never 
quarrel  with  him  again  —  if  I  can  help  it.' 

4  You  must  quarrel  with  him,  if  he  is  on  the  wrong 
side,'  I  answered.  '  And  so  must  I.' 

'  You  say,  you  must  go  immediately  back  to  "West 
Point,'  said  Miss  Cardigan.  '  Leave  thanking  Daisy's 
hand,  and  tell  me  when,  you  are  going ;  for  the  night 
is  far  past,  children.' 

4 1  am  gone  when  I  bid  you  good-night,'  said 
Thorold.  *  I  must  set  out  with  the  dawn  —  to  catch 
the  train  I  must  take.' 

'  With  the  dawn  !  —  this  morning ! '  cried  Miss  Cardi 
gan. 

'  Certainly.  I  should  be  there  this  minute,  if  the 
colonel  had  not  given  me  something  to  do  here  that 
kept  me.' 


428  DAISY. 

to  us  both.  We  went  over  the  whole  ground  of  the  few 
months  past,  of  the  work  then  doing  and  preparing,  of 
what  might  reasonably  be  looked  for  in  both  the  South 
and  the  North.  He  said  he  was  not  very  wise  in  the 
matter ;  but  he  was  infinitely  more  informed  than  we  ; 
and  we  listened  as  to  the  most  absorbing  of  all  tales, 
till  the  night  was  far  worn.  A  sense  of  the  gravity 
and  importance  of  the  crisis  ;  a  consciousness  that  we 
were  embarked  in  a  contest  of  the  most  stubborn  char 
acter,  the  end  of  which  no  man  might  foretell,  pressed 
itself  more  and  more  on  my  mind  as  the  night  and  the 
talk  grew  deeper.  If  I  may  judge  from  the  changes 
in  Miss  Cardigan's  face,  it  was  the  same  with  her. 
The  conclusion  was,  the  North  was  gathering  and  con 
centrating  all  her  forces  to  meet  the  trial  that  was 
coming  ;  and  the  young  officers  of  the  graduating  class 
at  the  Military  Academy  had  been  ordered  to  the  seat 
of  war  a  little  before  their  time  of  study  was,  out ;  their 
help  being  urgently  needed. 

'  And  where  is  Preston  ?  '  said  I,  speaking  for  the 
first  time  in  a  long  while. 

4  Preston  ? '  —  echoed  Thorold. 

4  My  cousin  Preston,  —  Gary  ;  your  classmate  Gary.' 

1  Gary !  —  O,  he  is  going  to  Washington,  like  the 
rest  of  us.' 

4  Which  side  will  he  take?' 

4  You  should  know,  perhaps,  better  than  I,'  said 
Thorold.  4  He  always  has  taken  the  Southern  side, 
and  very  exclusively.' 

4  Has  taken?'  said  I.  4Do  you  mean  that  among 
the  cadets,  there  has  been  a  South  and  a  North  —  un 
til  now  lately  ? ' 

4  Ay,  Daisy,  always,  since  I  have  been  in  the  Acad- 


ENTERED    FOR    THE    WAR.  429 

emy.  The  Southern  clique  and  the  Northern  clique 
have  been  well  defined ;  there  is  always  an  assumption 
of  superiority  on  the  one  side,  and  some  resenting  of  it 
on  the  other  side.  It  was  on  that  ground  Gary  and  I 
split.' 

4  Split ! '  I  repeated. 

But  Thorold  laughed  and  kissed  me,  and  would  give 
me  no  satisfaction.  I  began  to  put  things  together 
though.  I  saw  from  Christian's  eyes  that  he  had  noth 
ing  to  be  ashamed  of,  in  looking  back  ;  I  remembered 
Preston's  virulence,  and  his  sudden  flush  when  some 
body  had  repeated  the  word  i  coward/  which  he  had 
applied  to  Thorold.  I  felt  certain  that  more  had  been 
between  them  than  mere  words,  and  that  Preston 
found  the  recollection  not  flattering,  whatever  it  was ; 
and  having  come  to  this  settlement  of  the  matter  I 
looked  up  at  Thorold. 

4  My  gentle  little  Daisy ! '  he  said.  '  I  will  never 
quarrel  with  him  again  —  if  I  can  help  it.' 

4  You  must  quarrel  with  him,  if  he  is  on  the  wrong 
side,'  I  answered.  '  And  so  must  I.' 

*  You  say,  you  must  go  immediately  back  to  West 
Point,'  said  Miss  Cardigan.  '  Leave  thanking  Daisy's 
hand,  and  tell  me  when,  you  are  going ;  for  the  night 
is  far  past,  children.' 

4  I  am  gone  when  I  bid  you  good-night,'  said 
Thorold.  4  I  must  set  out  with  the  dawn  —  to  catch 
the  train  I  must  take.' 

4  With  the  dawn  !  —  this  morning  ! '  cried  Miss  Cardi 
gan. 

4  Certainly.  I  should  be  there  this  minute,  if  the 
colonel  had  not  given  ine  something  to  do  here  that 
kept  me.' 


432  DAISY. 

I  was  silent. 

'What  then,  Daisy?  Perhaps  you  will  find  some 
way  to  come  on  and  see  me  at  Washington  —  if  the 
rebels  don't  take  it  first  ? ' 

It -must  be  told. 

'  No  —  I  cannot.  —  My  father  and  mother  wish  me  to 
come  out  to  them  as  soon  as  I  get  a  chance.' 

'Where?' 

4  In  Switzerland.' 

'  Switzerland !     To  stay  how  long  ? 
'  I  don't  know  —  till  the  war  is  over,  I  suppose.     I 
do  not  think  they  would  come  back  before.' 

'  I  shall  come  and  fetch  you  then,  Daisy.' 

But  it  seemed  a  long  way  off.  And  how  much  might 
be  between.  We  were  both  silent. 

4  That  is  heavy,  for  me,'  said  Thorold  at  last.  '  Lit 
tle  Daisy,  you  do  not  know  how  heavy  ! ' 

He  was  caressing  my  hair,  smoothing  and  stroking 
it  as  he  spoke.  I  looked  up,  and  his  eyes  flashed  fire 
instantly. 

4  Say  that  in  words ! '  he  exclaimed,  taking  me  in 
his  arms.  '  Say  it,  Daisy  !  say  it.  It  will  be  worth  so 
much  to  me.' 

But  my  lips  had  hardly  a  chance  to  speak. 

'Say  what?' 

'  Daisy,  you  have  said  it.  Put  it  in  words,  that  is 
all.' 

But  his  eyes  were  so  full  of  flashing  triumph  that  I 
thought  he  had  got  enough  for  the  time. 

fc  Daisy,  those  eyes  of  yours  are  like  mountain  lakes, 
deep  and  still.  But  when  I  look  quite  down  to  the 
bottom  of  them  —  sometimes  I  see  something  —  I 
thought  I  did  then.' 


ENTERED  FOR   THE    WAR.  438 

*  What  ? '  I  asked,  very  much  amused. 

4 1  see  it  there  now,  Daisy ! ' 

I  was  afraid  he  did,  for  his  eyes  were  like  sunbeams 
I  thought  they  went  through  everything  at  that 
minute.  I  don't  know  what  moved  me,  the  conscious 
ness  of  this  inspection  or  the  consciousness  of  what  it 
discovered ;  but  I  know  that  floods  of  shyness  seemed 
to  flush  my  face  and  brow,  and  even  to  the  tips  of  my 
fingers.  I  would  have  escaped  if  I  could,  but  I  could 
not;  and  I  think  Thorold  rather  liked  what  he  saw. 
There  was  no  hiding  it  unless  I  hid  it  on  his  shoulder ; 
and  I  was  ashamed  to  have  to  do  that,  but  he  liked  it. 
I  felt  that  his  lips  knew  just  as  well  as  his  eyes  what 
state  my  cheeks  were  in,  and  took  their  own  advantage. 
Though  presently  their  tenderness  soothed  me  too,  and 
even  nullified  the  soft  little  laugh  with  which  he  whis 
pered,  *  Are  you  ashamed  to  shew  it  to  wie,  Daisy  ? ' 

4  You  know/  said  I,  still  keeping  my  eyes  hid,  *  you 
have  me  at  advantage.  If  you  were  not  going  —  away 

—  so  soon,  I  would  not  do  a  great  many  things.1 

'  Daisy  ! '  said  he  laughing,  — '  Daisy ! '  — And  touch 
ing  my  cheek  as  one  who  meant  to  keep  his  advantage. 
But  then  his  voice  changed,  and  he  repeated  with  a 
deeper  and  deepening  tone  with  each  word  — '  Daisy ! 

—  my  Daisy.' 

I  had  very  nearly  burst  out  into  great  sobs  upon 
his  breast,  with  the  meeting  of  opposite  tides  of  feel 
ing.  Sweet  and  bitter  struggled  for  the  upper  hand ; 
struggled,  while  I  was  afraid  he  would  feel  the  laboured 
breath  which  went  and  came,  straining  me.  And  the 
sweetness,  for  the  moment,  got  the  better.  I  knew  he 
must  go,  in  an  hour  or  little  more,  away  from  me.  I 
knew  it  was  for  uncertain  and  maybe  dangerous  duty. 
37 


434  DAISY. 

I  knew  it  might  at  best  be  long  before  we  could  see 
each  other  again ;  and  back  of  all,  the  thought  of  my 
father  and  mother  was  not  reassuring.  But  his  arms 
were  round  me  and  my  head  was  on  his  shoulder ;  and 
that  was  but  the  outward  symbol  of  the  inward  love 
and  confidence  which  filled  all  my  heart  with  its  satis 
fying  content.  For  the  moment  happiness  was  upper 
most.  Not  all  the  clouds  on  the  horizon  could  dim  the 
brightness  of  that  one  sun-ray  which  reached  me. 

I  do  not  know  what  Thorold  thought,  but  he  was  as 
still  as  I  for  a  while. 

I  Daisy/  he  said  at  last,  4  my  Daisy,  you  need  not 
grudge  any  of  your  goodness  to  me.     Don't  you  know, 
you  are  to  be  my  light  and  my  watchword  in  what  lies 
before  me  ? ' 

4  O  no  ! '  —  I  said,  lifting  my  head  ;  '  O  no,  Chris 
tian  ! ' 

'Why  no?'  said  he. 

I 1  want  you  to  have  a  better  watchword  and  follow 
a  better  light.     Not  me.     O  Christian,  won't  you? ' 

4  What  shall  my  watchword  be  ? '  said  he,  looking 
into  my  eyes.  But  I  was  intent  on  something  else 
then. 

4  '4  Whatsoever  ye  do,  do  all  in  the  name  of  the  Lord 
Jesus," '  I  answered. 

4  A  soldier,  Daisy?  —  ' 

4  A  soldier  more  than  anybody,'  I  said  ;  4  for  He  calls 
us  to  be  soldiers,  and  you  know  what  it  means.' 

4  But  you  forget,'  said  he,  not  taking  his  eyes  from 
my  face,  — 4  in  my  service  I  must  obey  as  well  as  com 
mand  ;  I  am  not  my  own  master  exactly.' 

4  Let  Christ  be  your  Master,'  I  said. 

*  How  then  with  this  other  service  ? ' 


ENTERED   FOR    THE    WAR.  435 

4  Why  it  is  very  plain/  I  said.  *  Command  in  the 
lore  of  God,  and  obey  in  the  fear  of  God  ;  that  covers 
all.1 

I  did  not  see  the  natural  sequence  of  what  followed ; 
for  it  was  a  succession  of  kisses  that  left  no  chance 
for  a  word  to  get  out  of  my  mouth.  Then  Thorold 
rose  up,  straightened  himself,  and  I  saw  Miss  Cardi 
gan  just  entering. 

4 1  will  not  forget,  Daisy/  he  said,  in  a  tone  as  if 
we  had  been  talking  of  business.  I  thought,  neither 
should  I.  And  then  came  Miss  Cardigan,  and  the  ser 
vant  behind  her  bringing  coffee  and  bread  and  eggs 
and  marmalade  —  I  don't  know  what  beside  —  and  we 
sat  down  again  to  the  table,  knowing  that  the  next 
move  would  be  a  move  apart.  But  the  wave  of  happi 
ness  was  at  the  flood  with  me,  and  it  bore  me  over  all 
the  underlying. roughnesses  of  the  shore — for  the  time. 
I  do  not  think  anybody  wanted  to  eat  much  ;  we  played 
with  cups  of  coffee  and  with  each  other,  and  dallied 
with  the  minutes  till  tfie  last  one  was  spent. 

And  then  came  the  parting.     That  was  short  c 


DAISY 


CONTINUED  FROM  "MELBOURNE  HOUSE." 


BY   THE   AUTHOR   OP 

'WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD,"  "QUEECHY,"   "WALKS 

FROM  EDEN,"  "HOUSE  OF  ISRAEL," 

ETC.,  ETC. 


'My  half-day's  work  is  done; 
And  this  is  all  my  part — 
I  give  a  patient  God 
My  patient  heart. 

"  And  clasp  his  banner  still, 
Though  all  the  bine  be  dim. 

These  stripes,  no  less  than  star*, 
Lead  after  Him." 


SECOND  SERIES. 


PHILADELPHIA 
J.     B.     LIPPINCOTT    &    CO, 

1878. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  CO., 

In  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Eastern  District  of 
Pennsylvania. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PAOE 

I. — THE  FIRST  SMOKE  OF  THE  BATTLEFIELD 5 

II. — AT  THE  RENDEZVOUS 22 

III.— IN  REVIEW 32 

IV.— ON  FOOT 46 

V. — ON  HORSEBACK 59 

VI.— IN  THE  FIRE 78 

VII. — DETAILED  FOR  DUTY 97 

VIII.— DAISY'S  POST 113 

IX. — SKIRMISHING 128 

X.— WAITING 141 

XL— A  VICTORY 152 

XII.— AN  ENGAGEMENT. 164 

XIII.— A  TRUCE 181 

XIV.— FLIGHT 205 

XV. — OLD  BATTLEFIELDS 220 

XVI.— THE  FORLORN  HOPE 234 

XVII.— OUT  OF  THE  SMOKE 256 

3 


6  DA  1ST. 

As  I  touched  them,  I  felt  how  much  had  come  into  my 
hands  and  fallen  out  of  my  hands,  since  I  took  them  up 
before,  just  a  few  hours  ago.  It  would  not  do  to  think 
of  that.  I  resolutely  put  it  back,  and  set  myself  about 
getting  out  of  the  books  the  facts  I  wanted  for  my  work. 
Miss  Cardigan  left  the  room ;  and  for  a  time  I  turned 
over  leaves  vigorously.  But  the  images  of  modern  war 
fare  began  to  mix  themselves  inconveniently  with  the 
struggles  of  long  ago.  Visions  of  a  grey  uniform  came 
blending  in  dissolving  views  with  the  visions  of  mon- 
archs  in  their  robes  of  state  and  soldiers  in  heavy 
armour ;  it  meant  much,  that  grey  uniform ;  and  a  sense 
of  loss  and  want  and  desolation  by  degrees  crept  over  me, 
which  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  ruin  of  kingdoms.  The 
books  grew  heavy ;  my  hands  trembled ;  yet  still  I  tried 
to  make  good  work,  and  bade  myself  deal  with  the  pres 
ent  and  let  the  past  and  the  future  alone.  The  *  present' 
being  represented  by  my  school  day  and  my  studies. 
Could  I  do  it?  The  past  and  the  future  rushed  in  at 
last,  from  opposite  sides  as  it  were,  and  my  '  present'  was 
overthrown.  I  dropped  my  books  and  myself  too,  as 
nearly  as  possible ;  my  heart  gave  way  in  a  deep  passion 
of  tears. 

Now  I  tried  to  reason  myself  out  of  this.  What  had 
I  lost?  I  asked  myself.  What  were  these  tears  for? 
What  had  I  lost,  that  I  had  not  been  without  until  only 
twelve  hours  before?  Indeed  rather,  what  had  I  not 
gained?  But  my  reasonings  were  of  no  use.  Against 
them  all,  some  vision  of  Thorold's  face,  some  sparkle  of 
his  eyes,  some  touch  of  his  hand,  would  come  back  to 
me,  and  break  down  my  power  and  unlock  fresh  foun 
tains  of  tears.  This  passion  of  self-indulgence  was  not 
like  me,  and  surprised  myself.  I  suppose  the  reason  was, 
I  had  been  so  long  alone ;  I  had  been  working  my  way 
and  waiting,  in  exile  from  home  as  it  were,  so  many  days 


THE  FIRST  SMOKE   OF   THE  BATTLEFIELD.          7 

and  years;  nobody  that  loved  me  better  than  I  loved 
myself  had  been  near  me  for  so  very  long ;  that  the  sweet 
ness  so  suddenly  given  and  so  suddenly  taken  away  left 
me  a  little  unsteady.  Was  it  wonderful?  The  joy  and 
the  grief  were  both  new ;  I  was  not  braced  for  either ; 
the  one  seemed  to  add  poignancy  to  the  other ;  and  be 
tween  the  two  facts,  that  Thorold  loved  me,  and  that  he 
was  gone  from  me  into  what  might  be  a  duty  of  danger, 
— that  he  was  gone  into  danger  and  that  he  loved  me, — 
for  a  little  while  my  soul  was  tossed  back  and  forth  like 
a  ship  on  a  stormy  sea,  unable  to  make  any  headway  at 
all.  And  so  Miss  Cardigan  found  me.  She  half  lifted 
half  drew  me  up,  I  remember ;  made  me  lie  down  again 
on  the  sofa,  gave  me  some  hot  tea  to  drink ;  and  when 
she  had  made  me  drink  it,  she  sat  still  looking  at  me, 
silent,  and  I  thought  a  good  deal  disturbed.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  tell  why  I  thought  so.  Perhaps  it  was  be 
cause  she  said  nothing.  I  lay  quiet  with  my  face  hid  in 
my  hands. 

'  What  do  you  think  to  do  with  yourself  to-day,  now  ?' 
was  at  last  her  practical  question. 

'What  o'clock  is  it?'  I  whispered. 

'It's  just  on  the  stroke  of  six,  Daisy.' 

'  I'll  get  up  and  go  on  with  my  work,'  I  said ;  and  I 
raised  myself  to  a  sitting  posture  accordingly. 

'Work!'  echoed  Miss  Cardigan.  'You  look  like 
much  of  that!  Your  cheeks'  (and  she  touched  them) 
'they  are  the  colour  of  my  magnolia  there  that  has  just 
opened.  A  night's  work  Christian  has  made  of  it !  I 
suppose  he  is  travelling  off  as  content  as  if  he  had  some 
thing  to  praise  himself  for.  The  pride  of  these  men ! — ' 

I  could  not  help  laughing,  and  laughing  made  me  cry. 
Miss  Cardigan  promptly  put  me  back  on  the  cushions 
and  bade  me  lie  still ;  and  she  sat  in  front  of  me  there 
like  a  good  shaggy  human  watch  dog.  I  should  not  say 


8  DAISY. 

shaggy,  for  she  was  entirely  neat  and  trim ;  but  there 
was  something  of  sturdy  and  uncompromising  about  her 
which  suggested  the  idea.  I  lay  still,  and  by  and  by 
went  off  into  a  sleep.  That  restored  me.  I  woke  up  a 
couple  of  hours  later  all  right  and  quite  myself  again.  I 
was  able  to  rush  through  the  bit  of  study  I  had  wanted ; 
and  went  over  to  Mme.  Eicard's  just  a  minute  before 
school  opened. 

I  had  expected  some  uncomfortable  questioning  about 
my  staying  out  all  night ;  but  things  do  not  happen  as 
one  expects.  I  got  no  questioning,  except  from  one  or 
two  of  the  girls.  Mme.  Bicard  was  ill,  that  was  the 
news  in  school ;  the  other  teachers  had  their  hands  full, 
and  did  not  give  themselves  any  extra  trouble  about  the 
doings  of  so  regular  and  trusted  an  inmate  as  myself. 
The  business  of  the  day  rolled  on  and  rolled  off,  as  if  last 
night  had  never  been ;  only  that  I  walked  in  a  dream ; 
and  when  night  came  I  was  free  to  go  to  bed  early  and 
open  my  budget  of  thoughts  and  look  at  them.  From 
without,  all  was  safe. 

All  day  my  thoughts  had  been  rushing  off,  away  from 
the  schoolroom  and  from  studies  and  masters,  to  look  at 
a  receding  railway  train,  and  follow  a  grey  coat  in  among 
the  crowd  of  its  fellows,  where  its  wearer  mingled  in  all 
the  business  and  avocations  of  his  interrupted  course  of 
life.  Interrupted !  yes,  what  a  change  had  come  to  his 
and  to  mine;  and  yet  all  was  exactly  the  same  out 
wardly.  But  the  difference  was,  that  I  was  thinking  of 
Thorold,  and  Thorold  was  thinking  of  me.  How  strange 
it  was !  and  what  a  great  treasure  of  joy  it  was.  I  felt 
rich ;  with  the  most  abounding,  satisfying,  inexhaustible 
treasure  of  riches.  All  day  I  had  known  I  was  rich  ; 
now  I  took  out  my  gold  and  counted  it,  and  could  not 
count  it,  and  gave  full-hearted  thanks  over  it. 

If  the  brightness  wanted  a  foil,  it  was  there ;  the  gold 


THE  FIRST  SMOKE    OF   THE  BATTLEFIELD.  9 

glittered  upon  a  cloudy  background.  My  treasure  was 
not  exactly  in  my  hand  to  enjoy.  There  might  be  many 
days  before  Thorold  and  I  saw  each  other's  faces  again. 
Dangers  lay  threatening  him,  that  I  could  not  bear  to 
think  of;  although  I  knew  they  were  there.  And  even 
were  this  cloud  all  cleared  away,  I  saw  the  edges  of 
another  rising  up  along  the  horizon.  My  father  and  my 
mother.  My  mother  especially;  what  would  she  say  to 
Daisy  loving  an  officer  in  the  Northern  army?  That 
cloud  was  as  yet  afar  off;  but  I  knew  it  was  likely  to  rise 
thick  and  black ;  it  might  shut  out  the  sun.  Even  so ! 
my  treasure  was  my  treasure  still,  through  all  this. 
Thorold  loved  me  and  belonged  to  me;  nothing  could 
change  that.  Dangers,  and  even  death,  would  not  touch 
it.  My  mother's  command  could  not  alter  it.  She 
might  forbid  his  marrying  me;  I  must  obey  her;  but  the 
fact  that  we  loved  each  other  was  a  fact  beyond  her 
reach  and  out  of  her  power,  as  out  of  mine.  Thorold 
belonged  to  me,  in  this  higher  and  indestructible  sense, 
and  also  I  belonged  to  him.  And  in  this  joy  I  rejoiced, 
and  counted  my  treasure  with  an  inexpressible  triumph 
of  joy  that  it  was  uncountable. 

I  wondered  too,  very  much.  I  had  had  no  idea  that  I 
loved  Thorold;  no  dream  that  he  liked  me  had  ever 
entered  my  head.  I  thought  we  were  friends,  and,  that 
was  all.  Indeed  I  had  not  known  there  was  anything  in 
the  world  more,  until  one  night  ago. 

But  I  winced  a  little,  privately,  in  the  very  bottom 
of  my  heart,  that  I  had  let  Thorold  have  so  much  liberty ; 
that  I  had  let  him  know  so  easily  what  he  was  to  me.  I 
seemed  unlike  the  Daisy  Randolph  of  my  former  ac 
quaintance.  She  was  never  so  free.  But  it  was  done ; 
and  I  had  been  taken  unawares  and  at  disadvantage,  with 
the  thought  of  coming  danger  and  separation  checking 
every  reserve  I  would  have  shown.  I  had  to  be  content 


10  DAISY. 

with  myself  at  all  events;  Thorold  knew  my  weakness 
and  would  never  forget  it  another  time. 

I  thought  a  great  many  other  thoughts  that  night; 
some  of  them  were  grave  enough.  My  sleep  however, 
when  I  went  to  sleep,  was  as  light  as  the  fall  of  the  dew. 
I  could  not  be  careful.  Just  seventeen,  and  just  come 
into  life's  great  inheritance,  my  spirit  was  strong,  as  such 
spirits  are,  to  throw  off  every  burden. 

For  several  days  it  happened  that  I  was  too  busy  to  see 
Miss  Cardigan.  I  used  to  look  over  to  her  house,  those 
days,  as  the  place  where  I  had  begun  to  live.  Mean 
while  I  was  bending  my  energies  to  work,  with  a  serious 
consciousness  of  woman's  life  and  responsibility  before 
me.  In  one  way  I  think  I  felt  ten  years  older,  when 
next  I  crossed  the  avenue  and  went  into  the  familiar 
marble-paved  hall  and  opened  Miss  Cardigan's  door. 
That  Thorold  was  not  there,  was  the  first  thought  with 
me.  Certainly  the  world  had  made  a  revolution  ;  but  all 
things  else  looked  as  usual ;  and  Miss  Cardigan  gave  me 
a  welcome  just  as  if  the  world  had  not  turned  round. 
She  was  busy  with  the  affairs  of  some  poor  people,  and 
plunged  me  into  them  as  her  custom  was.  But  I  fan 
cied  a  somewhat  more  than  usual  of  sober  gravity  in  her 
manner.  I  fancied,  and  then  was  sure  of  it;  though  for 
a  long  time  nothing  was  said  which  touched  Thorold  or 
me.  I  had  forgotten  that  it  was  to  come ;  and  then  it 
came. 

'And  what  have  ye  been  doing,  my  bonnie  lady,  since 
ye  went  away  at  eight  o'clock  o'  the  morn?' 

I  started,  and  found  that  I  had  lost  myself  in  a  reverie. 
I  said,  I  had  been  studying. 

'You  and  me  have  need  to  study  some  new  thing?,' 
Miss  Cardigan  said  soberly. 

'Yes  ma'am,'  I  said.  But  then— 'What,  Miss  Car 
digan  T 


Tin-  >/•'  TJJE  BATr;  11 

'There's  HIM-  ilutv'  sin*  said,  wilh  »i  pause  at  thai  part 
of  her  sentenOi;—  -"and  then,  lioxv  to  do  it.  Yes,  l>.n\, 
you  need  not  look  at  nu-,  nor  rail  the  bloom  up  into  >our 
cheeks.  that  Christian  .•  such  an  odd  colour. 

l>on't  you  think  you  haye  duties,  iul  more  (o  Jay 

than  a  fortnight  s\  ne'.' 

'  lmt       Miss     i  11,'      1      answered,       'yes,     1      ha\r 

(lutit^s;   but—  I  thoii-ht   1    knew  tlu-iii.' 

'  It  \>ill  ilo  uo  liana  to  look  at  (lu-in,  Pat  \  hi  •.  •  -.1 
to  si'f  all  nnuul  our  olutics,  siml  it's  haul  too.  An-  NOU  in 
a  liiirrv  t^>  «';o  back  to  school  '/' 

1  N(>,   ina'ain       1   ('an   haxr  tin'  r\  CM  in;-  .  ' 
Miss    ('anlu-an     pushed      her    \\oik  ha.^kcts    and     tahlc 
a\\a\,  and  drc\\    her  chair  up  beside  mine,  ln-lorc  (he  lire; 
and  made  it   Ma/e,  anol  sat  and  looked    into  the  l>la/.c,  tdl 
1   \\  ondcred  \\  hat   \\  as  comm;--. 

'  1  suppose  this  is  all  ati\ed  thni;>  Itetween  ('hri.^tiau 
and  N'ou,'  she  hej.'an  at  last. 

1  hardly  kueu  uhal  she  meant.  I  said,  thai  1  could 
not  uiiliv  it. 

'And  he  \\ill  not,  uo  fear!  So  it  is  fixed,  as  \\  e  may 
say;  fixed  08  two  hearts  ran  make  it.  Kill  it's  Very 
sudden,  I>aisy  ;  and  \,.u  a  iv  a  youiiu;  linn-,  my  dear.' 

'1  know  it  is  Midden,'  I  said  meekly.  '  It  is  Midden  io 
me.  But  he  \\ill  not,  like  me  less  lor  my  being  HO 


Miss  ('ardiv.au  laujdied  a  short 

'Trolh,  he's  no  rijrlil,  lu-in^  yoiui;.';  him  .-i-lf,  \\  e  may 
say.  V»»u  are  safe  for  his  liking,  my  bonnie  Daisy. 
Bllt"  your  father  and  molh.T,  m\  dr 

'  Yes,  Miss  (  ardii-an.' 

'  What,  will  their  word  be?' 

*  I   do  no!    kno\\  ,   ma'am.  ' 

'  You  will  tell  them,   Daisy?' 

This    was    yen     disa-iveahle    Io    me.       1     had 


12  DAISY. 

over  these  things,  and  made  up  my  mind ;  but  to  outline 
on  canvass,  as  it  were,  and  put  in  full  depth  of  shadow, 
all  the  images  of  opposition  real  and  possible  that  might 
rise  in  my  way — which  I  knew  might  rise, — I  liked  not 
to  do  it.  Still  Miss  Cardigan  had  reason ;  and  when  she 
repeated,  '  You  will  tell  them  at  once  ?'  I  answered, 

'  No,  Miss  Cardigan ;  I  think  not.' 

*  When,  then,  will  you  tell  them  ?'  she  said  shortly. 

'I  think  I  will  not  tell  them  at  all.  I  will  wait, 
till—' 

'Till  Christian  does  it?' 

'Yes.' 

'When  will  that  be  ?; 

'I  do  not  know.  It  may  be — a  great  while.  Why 
should  I  tell  them  before,  Miss  Cardigan  ?' 

'  For  many  reasons,  as  they  seem  to  my  mind,  Daisy ; 
and  I  thought,  as  they  would  seem  to  yours.  "Honour 
thy  father  and  thy  mother."  Daisy,  would  it  be  honour 
ing  them,  to  let  them  not  know  ?' 

There  were  so  many  things,  of  which  Miss  Cardigan 
was  ignorant !  How  could  I  answer  her  ?  I  sat  silent, 
pondering  the  difficulty ;  and  she  was  silent  on  her  side, 
waiting  for  me  to  think  over  it.  It  was  never  her  way 
to  be  in  a  hurry ;  not  to  leave  her  work  half  done  neither, 
as  I  knew. 

'  I  will  honour  them  the  best  way  I  can,'  I  said  at 
length. 

'  Then  you  will  write  them  next  steamer.  Is  it  not  so, 
Daisy?' 

'  That  would  make  it  very  difficult  for  me  to  honour 
them,'  I  said;  'to  honour  them  in  action,  I  mean.' 

'  Why  so  ?   There  is  no  way  so  short  as  a  straight  way.' 

'  No,  ma'am.  But — I  cannot  undo  what  is  done,  Miss 
Cardigan.' 

'What  your  cheeks  say  your  heart  has   done.    No, 


THE  FIRST  SMOKE   OF    THE  BATTLEFIELD.        13 

child.'     And  again  I  heard  the  unwonted  sigh  from  Miss 
Cardigan's  lips. 

'  Not  my  heart  only/  I  went  on,  plucking  up  courage. 
1 1  have  spoken — I  have  let  him  speak.  I  cannot  undo 
it.  I  cannot  undo  it.' 

'  Well  ?'  said  Miss  Cardigan,  looking  anxious. 

'  It  was  done  before  I  thought  of  mamma  and  papa. 
It  was  all  done — it  is  done ;  and  I  cannot  undo  it  now, 
even  for  them.' 

'  My  dear,  you  would  not  marry  without  your  parents' 
consent  ?' 

'No,  Miss  Cardigan.    They  may  forbid  that.' 

1  What  then  ?  What  harm  would  be  done  by  your 
letting  them  know  at  once  how  the  case  stands.  They 
would  care  for  your  happiness,  Daisy.' 

Not  with  a  Northerner,  a  farmer's  son,  and  an  officer 
in  the  Northern  army.  I  knew  how  it  would  be ;  but  I 
could  not  tell  Miss  Cardigan. 

1  What  is  it  you  cannot  undo,  little  Daisy  ?'  she  said 
softly,  I  suppose  seeing  me  look  troubled.  And  she 
stretched  out  a  kind  hand  and  took  hold  of  mine.  It 
was  very  hard  to  bear.  All  this  was  a  sort  of  dragging 
things  into  light  and  putting  things  in  black  and  white ; 
more  tangible  and  more  hard  to  deal  with  for  ever 
after. 

'  What  is  it  you  cannot  undo?  Since  you  confess,  that 
if  they  desired,  you  would  undo  the  whole.' 

'Not  my  faith,  nor  my  affection,' — I  said  slowly. 
'  Some  things  they  may  forbid,  and  I  obey ;  but  these 
things  are  passed  beyond  their  power,  and  beyond  mine. 
I  will  be  true.  I  cannot  help  it  now,  if  I  would.' 

'  But  Daisy — '  said  Miss  Cardigan,  and  she  was  evi 
dently  perplexed  now  herself.  'Since  you  are  ready  to 
obey  them  in  the  utmost  and  give  up  Thorold  if  they  say 
so,  what  is  there,  my  dear,  which  your  father  and  mother 

VOL.  II. — 2 


14  DAISY. 

could  command  now  in  which  you  are  not  ready  to  obey 
them?' 

'  The  time  has  not  come,  Miss  Cardigan,'  I  said.  '  It 
may  be — you  know  it  may  be — long,  before  they  need 
know  anything  about  it ;  before,  I  mean,  anything  could 
be  done.  I  am  going  abroad — Christian  will  be  busy 
here — and  they  might  tell  me  not  to  think  of  him  and 
not  to  write  to  him ;  and — I  can't  live  so.  It  is  fair  to 
give  him  and  myself  the  chance.  It  is  fair  that  they 
should  know  him  and  see  him  before  they  hear  what  he 
wants  of  them ;  or  at  least  before  they  answer  it.' 

'  Give  him  and  yourself  the  chance — of  what,  Daisy  ?' 

'  I  don't  know,'  I  said  faintheartedly.  '  Of  what  time 
may  do.' 

'Then  you  think — my  dear,  you  augur  ill  of  your 
father's  and  mother's  opinion  of  your  engagement?' 

'I  can't  help  it  now,  Miss  Cardigan,'  I  said;  and  I 
know  I  spoke  firmly  then.  '  I  did  not  know  what  I  was 
doing — I  did  not  know  what  was  coming.  If  I  had 
known,  if  I  could  have  helped  myself,  I  think  I  ought 
not  to  have  loved  anybody  or  let  anybody  speak  to  me 
without  my  father  and  mother  choosing  it ;  but  it  was  all 
done  before  I  could  in  the  least  help  it ;  and  you  know 
I  cannot  help  it  now.  I  owe  something  besides  to  them 
now.  I  will  not  disobey  them  in  anything  I  can  help ; 
but  I  will  be  true, — as  long  as  I  live.' 

Miss  Cardigan  sat  a  long  while  silent,  holding  my 
hand  all  the  while ;  sometimes  clasping,  and  sometimes 
fondling  it.  Then  she  turned  and  kissed  me.  It  was 
very  hard  to  bear,  all  of  it. 

'  I  suppose  you  are  a  great  heiress,'  she  said  at  last ;  as 
if  the  words  escaped  her,  and  with  a  breath  of  a  sigh. 

'It  is  not  that!'  I  exclaimed.  'No,  I  am  not.  I  am 
not — I  shall  not  be  a  great  heiress,  or  an  heiress  at  all,  I 
think.  Christian  is  richer  than  I.' 


THE  FIRST  SMOKE   OF   THE  BATTLEFIELD.        15 

'  My  dear !'  said  Miss  Cardigan.  '  Christian  never  said 
a  word  to  me  about  it,  but  your  friend  Mrs.  Sandford — 
she  told  me ;  she  told  me  you  would  be  one  of  the  richest 
women  in  your  State.' 

'She  thought  so,' — I  said. 

'  My  dear,  your  parents  are  very  wealthy ;  and  they 
have  only  one  other  child,  Mrs.  Sandford  told  me.  I 
remember,  for  it  took  me  with  a  pity  at  my  heart,  little 
Daisy,  for  you.' 

'  Yes,  they  are  wealthy,'  I  said ;  *  and  Ransom,  my 
brother,  is  the  only  other  one.  He  will  be  rich.  But  I 
shall  not.' 

'  Do  you  mean  he  is  the  favourite  ?'  said  Miss  Cardigan. 

* O  no !'  I  said.  'At  least,  if  he  is,  so  am  I.  It  isn't 
that.  But  I  shall  never  be  an  heiress,  Miss  Cardigan. 
I  shall  be  very  poor,  I  rather  think.' 

I  smiled  at  her  as  I  said  these  words — they  were  upon 
the  first  pleasant  subject  that  had  been  touched  for  some 
time  between  us ;  and  Miss  Cardigan  looked  quite  be 
wildered.  I  remembered  she  had  good  reason ;  and  I 
thought  it  was  right,  though  very  much  against  my  will, 
to  explain  my  words. 

'  You  know  what  makes  my  father  and  mother  rich  ?' 
I  said. 

'My  dear!'  said  Miss  Cardigan — 'They  have  large 
Southern  properties.' 

'  And  you  know  what  makes  Southern  wealth  ?'  I  went 
on. 

'  Rice — cotton — ' 

*  No,  it  isn't  that,'  I  said. 

'  What  then,  my  dear  ?  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean. 
I  thought  it  was  mainly  cotton.' 

'  It  is  unpaid  labour,'  I  said.  '  It  is  hands  that  ought 
to  work  for  themselves ;  and  men  and  women  that  ought 
to  belong  to  themselves.' 


16  DAISY. 

'Slaves,'  said  Miss  Cardigan.  'But  Daisy,  what  do 
you  mean  ?  It's  all  true :  but  what  can  you  do  ?' 

*  I  can  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  And  I  will  have 
nothing.  I  would  rather  be  poor,  as  poor  as  old  Dairy 
and  Maria,  than  take  what  belongs  to  them.  Miss  Cardi 
gan,  so  would  you/ 

She  settled  herself  back  in  her  chair,  like  a  person  who 
has  got  a  new  thought.  'My  dear  child!'  she  said.  And 
then  she  said  nothing  more.  I  did  not  wish  she  should. 
I  wanted  no  counsel,  nor  to  hear  any  talk  about  it.  I 
had  only  spoken  so  much,  as  thinking  she  had  a  right  to 
hear  it.  I  went  back  into  my  own  meditations. 

'Daisy,  my  child,'  she  said  suddenly  after  a  while, — 
'  there  is  only  one  thing  to  be  said ;  and  the  word  is  not 
mine.  "  If  the  world  hate  you,  ye  know  that  it  hated  me 
before  it  hated  you."  : 

'  Why,  Miss  Cardigan,'  said  I  smiling,  '  do  you  think 
the  world  will  hate  me  for  such  a  thing  ?' 

'  It  hates  all  those  who  pretend  to  tell  it  it  is  wrong.' 

'  I  do  not  pretend  to  tell  it  anything,'  I  said. 

'  There  is  no  preaching  like  that  of  the  life.  Daisy, 
have  you  well  considered  this  matter  ?' 

'  For  years.' 

'Then  I'll  know  how  to  pray  for  you,'  she  said.  And 
there  our  conversation  ended.  It  had  laid  on  my  heart  a 
grave  burden  of  well-defined  care,  which  went  with  me 
thenceforth.  I  could  never  ignore  it  nor  doubt  it  was 
there.  Not  but  I  knew  well  enough  each  several  point 
in  our  discussion,  before  it  had  come  up  in  words  between 
Miss  Cardigan  and  me;  but  having  so  come  up,  and 
taken  form,  each  was  a  tangible  thing  for  ever  after.  It 
is  odd,  how  much  we  can  bear  unspoken,  to  which  words 
give  an  unendurable  weight  and  power.  However,  these 
troubles,  in  their  present  form,  were  not  unendurable.  I 
on]y  felt  them  constantly  from  that  time. 


THE  FIRST  SMOKE   OF   THE  BATTLEFIELD.       17 

My  visits  to  Miss  Cardigan  now  were  what  they  had 
always  been ;  only  perhaps  she  was  a  little  more  tenderly 
affectionate  and  careful  of  me.  We  did  not  go  back  to 
the  discussions  of  that  day,  nor  to  any  other  regarding 
my  affairs ;  but  she  and  I  scanned  the  papers  well,  and 
talked  to  each  other  of  the  items  that  seemed  now  to 
touch  Thorold's  and  my  future  as  well  as  the  future  of 
the  country.  We  talked, — I  could  not  help  it ;  and  yet 
often  I  would  as  lief  not ;  the  subjects  were  not  quieting. 

The  first  thing,  was  the  going  to  Washington  of  Chris 
tian  and  his  class.  He  wrote  to  me  about  it.  They 
went  in  haste  and  zeal ;  waiting  for  nothing ;  losing  not 
a  train ;  going  by  night.  Some  in  civilian's  dress ;  some 
in  cadet  clothes,  with  the  black  stripe  torn  off  the  leg ; 
all  eager  for  their  work.  What  work  ?  It  was  peaceful 
enough  work  just  at  first.  Thorold  and  others  were  set 
t€>  drill  the  new  citizen  soldiers  who  had  come  in,  answer 
ing  to  the  President's  proclamation,  and  who  knew  simply 
nothing  of  the  business  they  were  to  be  wanted  for,  if 
wanted  at  all.  It  was  likely  they  would  have  something 
to  do !  Already  a  second  proclamation  from  the  Presi 
dent  had  called  for  a  second  supply  of  men,  to  serve  for 
three  years,  if  the  war  was  not  sooner  ended.  Seamen 
for  the  navy  also,  in  like  manner. 

For  three  years  or  the  war !  It  went  to  my  heart,  that 
requisition.  It  looked  so  terribly  in  earnest.  And  so 
unhopeful.  I  wondered,  those  days,  how  people  could 
live  that  did  not  know  how  to  pray;  when  every  one 
had,  or  might  have,  a  treasure  at  stake  in  this  fierce  game 
that  was  playing.  I  have  often  since  felt  the  same 
wonder. 

I  do  not  know  how  studies  and  the  usual  forms  of 
iLchool  recitations  went  on;  but  they  did  go  on;  smoothly, 
I  suppose.  I  even  recollect  that  mine  went  on  success 
fully.  With  my  double  or  treble  motive  for  desiring 
2»  B 


DAISY. 

success,  I  had  also  a  reason  for  prizing  and  remembering 
the  attainment.  But  my  head  was  on  graver  matters, 
all  the  time.  Would  the  rebels  attack  Washington  ?  it 
was  constantly  threatened.  Would  fighting  actually  be 
come  the  common  news  of  the  land  ?  The  answer  to  this 
second  query  began  to  be  sounded  audibly.  It  was  before 
May  was  over,  that  Ellsworth's  soldiers  took  possession 
of  Alexandria,  and  he  was  killed.  That  stirred  people 
at  the  time;  it  looks  a  very  little  thing  now.  Alex 
andria  !  how  I  remembered  driving  through  it  one  grey 
morning,  on  one  of  my  Southern  journeys ;  the  dull  little 
place,  that  looked  as  if  it  had  fallen  asleep  some  hundred 
or  two  years  ago  and  never  waked  up.  Now  it  was 
waked  up  with  rifle  shots ;  but  its  slave  pen  was  emptied. 
I  was  glad  of  that.  And  Thorold  was  safe  in  Washing 
ton,  drilling  raw  soldiers,  in  the  saddle  all  day,  and  very 
happy,  he  wrote  me.  I  had  begun  to  be  uneasy  about 
his  writing  to  me.  It  was  without  leave  from  my  father 
and  mother,  and  the  leave  I  knew  could  not  be  obtained ; 
it  would  follow  that  the  indulgence  must  be  given  up. 
I  knew  it  must.  I  looked  that  necessity  in  the  face.  A 
correspondence,  such  a  correspondence,  carried  on  with 
out  their  knowing  of  it,  must  be  an  impossibility  for  me. 
I  intended  to  tell  Christian  so,  and  stop  the  letters,  be 
fore  I  should  go  abroad.  My  difficulties  were  becoming 
daily  more  and  more  clear,  and  looking  more  and  more 
unmanageable.  I  wondered  sometimes  whither  I  was 
drifting ;  for  guide  or  choose  my  course  I  could  not.  I 
had  got  into  the  current  by  no  agency  and  with  no  fault 
of  my  own.  To  get  out  of  the  current — perhaps  that 
might  not  be  till  life  and  I  should  go  out  together.  So  I 
was  a  somewhat  sober  and  diligent  student  those  closing 
weeks  of  the  term;  and  yet,  very  happy,  for  Christian 
loved  me.  It  was  a  new,  sweet,  strange,  elixir  of  life. 
The  term  was  almost  out,  when  I  was  called  to  the 


THE  FIRST  SMOKE   OF   THE  BATTLEFIELD.        19 

parlour  one  day  to  see  Mrs.  Sandford.  All  winter  I  had 
not  seen  her ;  she  had  not  been  in  New  York.  I  think 
she  was  unaffectedly  glad  to  see  me ;  somehow  my  pres 
ence  was  pleasant  to  her. 

'Out  of  school!'  she  exclaimed,  after  a  few  greetings 
had  passed.  '  Almost  out  of  school.  A  woman,  Daisy. 
My  dear,  I  never  see  you  but  I  am  struck  with  the 
change  in  you.  Don't  change  any  more  I  you  are  just 
right.' 

I  laughed  and  asked  her,  what  was  the  change  in  me  ? 
I  had  not  grown  taller. 

'  No — '  said  Mrs.  Sandford — '  I  don't  know  that  you 
have ;  but  your  figure  is  improved,  and  you  have  the  air 
of  being  taller,  Daisy.  I  never  saw  you  looking  so  well. 
My  dear,  what  work  you  are  going  to  do  now !  now  that 
you  are  out  of  the  "elements."  And  by  the  by — what 
are  you  going  to  do,  when  school  closes  and  you  are  set 
free?' 

I  said  I  could  not  tell ;  I  had  received  no  directions. 
I  was  waiting  for  letters  from  somewhere,  to  tell  me  what 
I  must  do. 

'Suppose  you  go  with  me  to  Washington.' 

'Washington!' — I  ejaculated,  and  therewith  the  power 
of  speech  left  me. 

'  Yes.  You  are  not  afraid,  Daisy,  that  you  look  at  me 
so?  Some  people  are  afraid,  I  know,  and  think  Wash 
ington  is  going  to  be  stormed  by  the  Southern  army ;  but 
that  is  all  nonsense,  Grant  says;  and  I  always  trust 
Grant.  He  knows.  He  wants  me  to  come.  He  says 
Washington  is  a  novel  sight  just  now,  and  I  may  never 
have  such  another  chance ;  and  I  think  I  shall  do  as  he 
says  and  go.  Washington  is  full  of  soldiers,  and  no 
ladies  in  it.  You  are  not  afraid  f 

'O  no.  But — Dr.  Sandford  has  not  written  to  me  to 
come.' 


20  DAISY. 

'Yes,  he  has;  or  something  very  like  it.  He  asked 
me  to  come  and  see  you  as  I  passed  through  the  city — I 
was  not  likely  to  need  his  admonition,  Daisy,  my  dear, 
for  it  always  does  me  good  to  see  you ; — and  he  added 
that  I  might  suggest  to  you  that  I  was  coming,  and  ask 
you  if  your  curiosity  inclined  you  to  take  the  trouble  of 
the  journey.  He  said  he  thought  it  worth  while,  and 
that  we  would  both  find  it  so.' 

I  was  dumb.  Dr.  Sandford  little  knew  to  what  he  was 
inviting  me;  and  I — and  Thorold — What  a  strange 
chance. 

'Well,  what  are  you  pondering?'  Mrs.  Sandford  cried 
gaily.  'Dresses?  You  don't  care  for  dresses;  besides, 
we  can  have  them  made  in  two  minutes.  Don't  you 
want  to  go,  Daisy  ?  I  am  sure  you  do ;  and  I  am  sure 
Grant  will  take  famous  good  care  of  us,  and  you  specially, 
and  show  us  the  camps  and  everything.  And  don't  you 
want  to  see  the  President?' 

'I  have  seen  him.' 

'When,  and  where?' 

'  In  the  street — when  he  went  through,  on  his  way  to 
Washington/ 

'Well,  I  don't  care  much  for  Presidents;  but  this  one 
they  say  so  many  different  things  about,  that  it  makes  me 
curious.  Don't  you  want  to  see  him  again?' 

'Yes — I  would  like  it.' 

'Then  you'll  come  with  me — I  see  it;  and  I'll  have 
everything  in  readiness.  Thursday,  does  your  school- 
work  end?  then  we  will  go  Saturday.  You  will  want 
one  day  perhaps,  besides,  they  say  Friday  is  unlucky.  I 
never  go  a  journey  on  Friday.' 

'I  would  as  lieve  go  Friday  as  any  day,'  I  said. 

'O  well — Saturday  will  be  soon  enough;  and  now 
good-bye,  my  dear;  you  to  your  work  and  I  to  mine. 


THE  FIRST  SMOKE  OF  THE  BATTLEFIELD.        21 

You  are  beautiful,  my  dear  Daisy!'  she  added  kissing 
me. 

I  wondered  if  it  was  true.  If  it  was,  I  was  glad,  for 
Thorold's  sake.  I  knew  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  him. 
And  to  my  father  and  mother  also;  but  that  brought 
other  thoughts,  and  I  went  off  to  my  studies. 


CHAPTER    11. 

AT     THE     RENDEZVOUS. 

THE  examination  was  over  and  school  ended  for  me, 
before  I  had  one  half  hour  to  spare  to  go  to  see  Miss 
Cardigan.  The  examination  had  passed  as  I  could  have 
wished  it  might ;  all  had  gone  well ;  and  I  could  afford 
to  put  by  that  whole  train  of  thought,  even  as  I  put  up 
my  school-books  and  stowed  them  away;  being  things 
that  I  should  not  immediately  want  again.  Some  time 
would  pass,  it  was  likely,  before  I  would  need  to  refresh 
my  memory  with  mathematics  or  philosophy.  My  music 
was  another  matter,  and  I  kept  that  out. 

I  put  my  books  hastily  as  well  as  securely  away ;  and 
then  took  my  hat  and  rushed  over  to  Miss  Cardigan's. 
It  was  a  very  warm  June  day.  I  remember  now  the  cool 
feeling  of  her  marble  hall.  Miss  Cardigan  sat  in  her 
matted  parlour,  busy  as  always,  looking  quiet  and  com 
fortable  in  a  white  muslin  wrapper,  and  neat  as  a  pin ; 
also  an  invariable  thing.  Something  in  the  peaceful, 
settled,  calm  air  of  the  place  impressed  me,  I  suppose, 
with  a  feeling  of  contrast;  of  an  uninvaded,  undisturbed 
domain,  which  changes  were  not  threatening.  I  had 
gone  over  the  street  hurriedly ;  I  walked  into  the  room 
with  a  slow  step. 

'Daisy!  my  dear  child!'  Miss  Cardigan  exclaimed, — 
*  is  it  you  ?  and  is  all  over  ?     I  see  it  is.     Just  sit  down, 
and  you  shall  have  some  strawberries ;  you  look  tired,  my 
love.' 
22 


AT   THE  RENDEZVOUS. 

I  sat  still,  and  waited,  and  eat  my  strawberries. 

'  Miss  Cardigan/  I  said  at  length,  '  what  is  Christian's 
address  in  Washington  ?' 

'In  Washington?  I  don't  know.  Did  he  never  give 
it  to  you  ?' 

'  No,  ma'am ;  nothing  except  "  Washington."  : 

'I  suppose  that  is  enough.  Haven't  you  written  to 
him?' 

'I  have  written  once. — I  have  been  thinking,  Miss 
Cardigan,  that  I  must  stop  the  writing.' 

'Altogether?' 

'  Yes,  ma'am.' 

'  His  writing  too  ?' 

'  Yes.  My  father  and  mother  do  not  know — and  I 
cannot  ask  them, — and — ' 

*  You  are  right,'  Miss  Cardigan  answered  sorrow 
fully.  'And  yet  you  will  let  your  engagement  stand, 
Daisy  ?' 

'  I  cannot  break  my  part  of  it,  ma'am.  I — nor  they — 
cannot  change  what  is,  and  what  has  been  done.  The 
future  is  in  their  hands — or  in  God's  hands,  rather/ 

Miss  Cardigan  sighed. 

'  And  what  then,  dear,  about  the  address  ?'  she  said. 

'Because,  Miss  Cardigan,  I  am  going  there.  I  am 
going  to  Washington.' 

She  stopped  her  work  to  look  at  me. 

'  I  am  going  Saturday.  My  guardian  has  sent  for  me. 
It  is  very  strange,  Miss  Cardigan ;  but  I  must  go ;  and  I 
thought  I  would  like  to  know  in  what  part  of  the  city 
Christian  is.' 

'  Will  you  write  to  let  him  know  ?  You  will,  of  course. 
Write  just  as  usual,  child ;  the  letter  will  reach  him.' 

'  Why  should  I,  Miss  Cardigan  ?  what  use  ?  He  can 
not  come  to  see  me.' 

'Why  not?' 


'24  DAISY. 

'  I  would  not  dare.  My  guardian  watches  me  well ; 
and  he  would  not  like  my  seeing  Mr.  Thorold  of  all 
people.' 

1  Why  not?  Ah,  child !  there  is  a  rose  leaf  in  each  of 
your  cheeks  this  minute.  That  tells  the  story.  Then, 
Daisy,  you  had  better  not  go  to  Washington.  Christian 
will  not  bear  that  very  well ;  and  it  will  be  hard  for  you 
too.  My  dear,  it  will  be  hard/ 

I  Yes,  ma'am — and  hard  not  to  go.     I  shall  go,  Miss 
Cardigan,' 

'  And  mayn't  /  tell  him  you  are  there  ?' 

'  No,  ma'am.     If  I  can,  I  will  let  him  know  somehow.' 

But  a  sense  of  the  difficulties,  dangers,  doubts  and  un 
certainties,  thronging  my  way,  therewith  pressed  heavily 
upon  me ;  and  I  sat  in  silence  and  weariness,  while  Miss 
Cardigan  put  up  her  work  and  ordered  tea,  and  finally 
went  off  to  her  greenhouse.  Presently  she  came  back 
with  a  rose  in  her  hand  and  held  it  under  my  face.  It 
was  a  full  dewy  sweet  damask  rose,  rich  and  fragrant 
and  lovely  as  such  a  rose  can  be.  I  took  it  and  looked 
at  it. 

'Do  ye  mind,'  my  old  friend  said,  'how  the  flowers 
spoke  to  you  and  brought  you  messages,  when  Daisy  was 
a  child  yet  and  first  came  to  see  me  ?' 

I 1  know — I  remember,'  I  said. 

'  Does  that  no  tell  you  something  ?' 

'What  does  it  tell  me?'  I  said,  scarce  able  to  com 
mand  my  words,  under  the  power  of  association,  or 
memory,  which  was  laying  its  message  on  my  heart, 
though  it  was  a  flower  that  bore  the  message.  Inanimate 
things  do  that  sometimes — I  think,  often, — when  the  ear 
of  the  soul  is  open  to  hear  them ;  and  flowers  in  especial 
are  the  Lord's  messengers  and  speak  what  he  gives  them 
I  knew  this  one  spoke  to  me. 

'  Listen,  and  see,'  Miss  Cardigan  said. 


AT  THE  RENDEZVOUS.  25 

I  looked,  and  as  I  looked,  these  words  came  up  in  my 
mind — 

"  Why  are  ye  fearful,  O  ye  of  little  faith  ?" 

"  The  Lord  over  all  is  rich  unto  all  that  call  upon  him." 

And  still  as  I  looked,  I  remembered, — "  In  all  their 
afflictions  he  was  afflicted;" — and,  "My  God  shall  sup 
ply  all  your  need,  according  to  his  riches  in  glory  by 
Christ  Jesus."  The  words  came  into  my  head;  but 
apart  from  the  words,  the  rose  seemed  to  say  all  these 
things  to  me.  People  who  never  heard  flowers  talk 
would  think  me  fanciful,  I  suppose. 

'  And  you  will  go  to  that  city  of  trouble,  and  you  will 
not  let  Christian  know?'  Miss  Cardigan  said  after  a  while. 

'  Yes  ma'am.     No  ma'am/  I  answered. 

'  Suppose  he  should  be  angry  about  it  ?' 

'  Does  he  get  angry  ?'  I  asked  ;  and  his  aunt  laughed. 

*  Does  the  child  think  he  is  perfect  ?' 

'  No,  certainly,'  I  said ;  '  of  course  he  has  faults ;  but 
Miss  Cardigan,  I  did  not  think  anger  was  one  of  them, — 
or  getting  angry.' 

1  He  will  never  get  angry  with  you,  Daisy,  it  is  my  firm 
belief.' 

'  But  does  he,  easily,  with  other  people  ?' 

*  There!     I  don't  know,'  she  said.     'He  used  to  be 
gay  quick  with  his  temper,  for  all  so  gentle  as  he  is.     I 
wouldn't  try  him  too  far,  Daisy,  with  not  letting  him 
know/ 

'  I  cannot  tell  him — '  I  said  sighing. 

For  I  knew,  better  than  she  did,  what  thorough  good 
care  would  be  taken  of  me,  and  what  small  mercy  such  a 
visiter  as  Mr.  Thorold  would  meet  at  the  hands  of  my 
guardians.  So  with  a  doubtful  heart  I  kissed  Miss  Car 
digan,  and  went  back  over  the  way  to  prepare  for  my 
journey.  Which  was,  however,  thrown  over  by  a  storm 
till  the  next  week. 

VOL.  II. — 3 


26  DAISY. 

The  journey  made  my  heart  beat,  in  spite  of  all  my 
doubts.  It  was  strange,  to  see  the  uniforms  and  military 
caps  which  sprinkled  every  assemblage  of  people,  in  or 
out  of  the  cars.  They  would  have  kept  my  thoughts  to 
one  theme,  even  if  wandering  had  been  possible.  The 
war, — the  recruiting  for  the  war, — the  coming  struggle, — 
the  large  and  determined  preparation  making  to  meet 
it, — I  saw  the  tokens  of  these  things  everywhere,  and 
heard  them  on  every  hand.  The  long  day's  ride  to 
Washington  was  a  long  fever  dream,  as  it  seems  to  me 
now ;  it  seemed  a  little  so  to  me  then. 

It  was  dark  when  we  reached  Washington;  but  the 
thought  that  now  became  present  with  me,  that  any 
where  Thorold  might  be,  could  scarce  be  kept  in  check 
by  the  reflection  that  he  certainly  would  not  be  at  the 
railway  station.  He  was  not  there;  and  Dr.  Sandford 
was ;  and  a  carriage  presently  conveyed  us  to  the  house 
where  rooms  for  us  were  provided.  Not  a  hotel,  I  was 
sorry  to  find.  By  no  chance  could  I  see  Thorold  else 
where  than  in  a  hotel. 

Supper  was  very  full  of  talk.  Mrs.  Sandford  wanted 
to  know  everything ;  from  the  state  of  the  capital  and 
the  military  situation  and  prospects  for  the  nation,  to  the 
openings  for  enjoyment  or  excitement  which  might  await 
ourselves.  The  doctor  answered  her  fast  enough ;  but  I 
noticed  that  he  often  looked  at  me. 

1  Are  you  tired?'  he  asked  me  at  length;  and  there 
was  a  tone  of  gentle  deference  in  his  question,  such  as  I 
often  heard  from  Dr.  Sandford.  I  saw  that  my  silence 
struck  him. 

'Nonchalant,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford,  half  laughing. 
'  Daisy  does  not  care  about  all  these  things.  Why 
should  she  ?  To  see  and  to  conquer  are  the  same  thing 
with  her,  whatever  becomes  of  your  Southern  and  North 
ern  camps  and  armies.' 


AT   THE  RENDEZVOUS.  27 

'  Indeed  I  do  care,'  I  said. 

1  For  receptions  at  the  White  House  ? — or  military  re 
views? — or  parades,  or  encampments?  Confess,  Daisy.' 

'  Yes,  I  care,'  I  said.  '  I  care  about  some  of  these 
things/ 

' I  am  glad  to  hear  it,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford.  'I  really 
thought,  Daisy,  you  were  superior  to  them  all.  Why, 
child,  you  have  done  nothing  but  meditate,  in  the  gravest 
manner,  ever  since  we  took  seats  in  the  cars  this  morning. 
I  was  thinking  that  nothing  but  cabinet  ministers  would 
interest  you.' 

This  would  not  do.     I  roused  myself  and  smiled. 

1  What  do  you  think  of  your  ward  ?'  said  Mrs.  Sand- 
ford  pointedly. 

'  I  think  more  of  her  guardian,'  said  the  doctor  some 
what  dryly. 

*  How  soon  are  you  going  to  send  Daisy  to  Europe  ?' 

*  According   to  orders,  just   as  soon  as  I  can  satisfy 
myself  with  a  good  opportunity.     I  wish  you  would  go.' 

'  Meanwhile,  it  is  a  very  good  thing  that  she  should 
come  here.  It  will  keep  her  from  ennui  at  least. 
Washington  is  alive,  that  is  one  thing ;  and  Daisy,  my 
dear,  we  may  mount  muskets  yet.  Come,  let  us  go  and 
get  a  good  night's  sleep  while  that  is  possible.' 

I  was  glad  to  be  alone.  I  took  off  my  dusty  travelling 
dress,  refreshed  myself  with  a  bath,  put  on  a  wrapper, 
and  sat  down  to  think. 

I  found  my  heart  was  beating  in  a  way  that  shewed 
some  mental  fever.  What  was  I  about?  what  was  I 
going  to  do  ?  I  asked  myself. 

I  sat  with  my  head  in  my  hands.  Then  I  got  up  and 
walked  the  floor.  I  found  that  I  was  determined  to  see 
Mr.  Thorold,  and  to  see  him  as  soon  as  possible.  Yet  I 
had  no  certain  means  of  communicating  with  him.  My 
determination  was  a  vague  determination,  but  it  sprung 


28 


DAISY. 


from  the  necessity  of  the  case.  I  must  see  Mr.  Thorold. 
Both  of  us  in  Washington  for  a  little  while  now,  no  fore 
sight  could  tell  when  again  we  might  be  near  each  other. 
It  might  well  be  never.  I  would  see  him.  Then  came 
the  question,  Daisy,  what  are  you  going  to  say  to  him, 
when  you  see  him?  I  walked  and  thought. 

Our  correspondence  must  cease.  I  must  tell  him  that. 
It  was  dreadfully  hard  to  think  it,  but  I  knew  it  must 
cease.  I  could  not  receive  letters  from  Christian  in 
Switzerland,  and  certainly  I  could  not  write  them,  with 
out  the  knowledge  of  my  father  and  mother;  and  if  I 
could,  I  would  not.  We  must  stop  writing ;  we  must  be 
hundreds  of  miles  apart,  know  that  dangers  clustered 
round  the  path  of  one  if  not  both,  know  that  clouds  and 
uncertainties  hung  over  all  our  future,  and  we  must  not 
write.  And  I  must  tell  Mr.  Thorold  so.  It  was  very 
hard;  for  I  did  not  flatter  myself  with  an  easy  bright 
clearing  away  of  our  difficulties  by  and  by,  even  if  the 
storm  of  the  war  should  roll  over  and  leave  Christian  to 
encounter  them  with  me.  I  did  not  hope  that  expla 
nations  and  a  little  persuasion  would  induce  my  mother 
and  my  father  to  look  favourably  on  a  Northern  suitor  for 
their  daughter's  hand.  My  father? — he  possibly  might 
give  up  his  pleasure  for  the  sake  of  my  happiness ;  with 
my  mother  I  saw  no  such  possibility.  It  was  useless  to 
hope  they  would  let  me  write  to  an  officer  in  the  Union 
army.  If  any  chance  at  all  for  my  happiness  were  in  the 
future  it  must  lie  in  changes  not  yet  accomplished,  or  in 
Mr.  Thorold's  own  personal  power  of  recommending  him 
self;  rather  in  both  these.  For  the  present — I  could  not 
tell  how  long — now,  soon,  as  soon  as  I  should  leave 
Washington  again,  we  must  be  separated.  I  wished  I 
could  see  Thorold  that  very  evening !  In  Washington — 
maybe  not  far  off — and  days  so  few — and  I  could  not  see 
him !  I  sat  down  again  and  put  my  head  in  my  hands. 


AT  THE   RENDEZVOUS.  29 

Had  I  done  wrong,  made  any  unconscious  mistake,  ne 
glected  any  duty,  that  this  trouble  had  come  upon  me?  I 
tried  to  think.  I  could  not  find  that  I  had  to  blame  my 
self  on  any  such  score.  It  was  not  wrong  to  go  to  West 
Point  last  summer.  I  held  none  but  friendly  relations 
with  Mr.  Thorold  there,  so  far  as  I  knew.  I  was  utterly 
taken  by  surprise,  when  at  Miss  Cardigan's  that  night  I 
found  that  we  were  more  than  friends.  Could  I  hide  the 
fact  then?  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  right  to  do  it,  if 
I  had  known  what  I  was  about;  but  I  did  not  know. 
Mr.  Thorold  was  going  to  the  war ;  I  had  but  a  surprised 
minute;  it  was  simply  impossible  to  hide  from  him  all 
which  that  minute  revealed.  Now?  Now  I  was  com 
mitted;  my  truth  was  pledged;  my  heart  was  given. 
My  heart  might  be  broken,  but  could  never  be  taken 
back.  Truth  must  be  truth;  and  my  life  was  Mr. 
Thorold's  if  it  belonged  to  anybody  but  my  father  and 
mother.  I  settled  that  point.  It  was  needless  ever  to 
look  at  it  again. 

I  had  something  else  to  tell  Mr.  Thorold;  and  here  I 
took  up  my  walk  through  the  room,  but  slowly  now.  I 
was  not  going  to  be  an  heiress.  I  must  tell  him  that. 
He  must  know  all  about  me.  I  would  be  a  poor  girl  at 
last ;  not  the  rich,  very  rich,  Miss  Randolph  that  people 
supposed  I  would  be.  No  yearly  revenues;  no  Southern 
mansions  and  demesnes;  no  power  of  name  and  place. 
Would  Mr.  Thorold  care?  I  believed  not.  I  had  no 
doubt  but  that  his  care  was  for  myself  alone,  and  that  he 
regarded  as  little  as  I  the  adventitious  circumstances  of 
wealth  and  standing  which  I  intended  to  cast  from  me. 
Nevertheless,  /  cared.  Now,  when  it  was  not  for  myself, 
I  did  care.  For  Mr.  Thorold,  I  would  have  liked  to  be 
rich  beyond  my  riches,  and  powerful  above  my  power. 
I  would  have  liked  to  possess  very  much;  that  I  might 
make  him  the  owner  of  it  all.  And  instead,  I  was  going 

3* 


SO  DAISY. 

to  give  him  as  poor  a  wife  as  ever  he  could  have  picked 
up  in  the  farm-houses  of  the  North.  Yes  I  cared.  I 
found  I  cared  much.  And  though  there  was  not,  of 
course,  any  wavering  of  my  judgment  as  to  what  was 
right,  I  found  that  to  do  the  right  would  cost  me  some 
thing;  more  than  I  could  have  thought  possible;  and  to 
tell  Mr.  Thorold  of  it  all,  was  the  same  as  doing  it.  I 
walked  down  a  good  many  bitter  regrets,  of  pride  or  af 
fection  ;  I  thmk  both  were  at  work ;  before  I  dismissed 
the  matter  from  my  mind  that  night. 

I  think  I  had  walked  a  good  part  of  the  night  while  I 
was  cogitating  these  things  and  trying  to  bring  my 
thoughts  into  order  respecting  them.  While  I  was  at 
last  preparing  for  sleep,  I  reflected  on  yet  another  thing. 
I  always  looked  back  to  that  evening  at  Miss  Cardigan's 
with  a  mixture  of  feelings.  Glad,  and  sorrowful,  and 
wondering,  and  grateful,  as  I  was  in  the  remembrance, 
with  all  that  was  mingled  a  little  displeasure  and  disap 
proval  of  myself  for  that  I  had  allowed  Mr.  Thorold  so 
much  liberty  and  had  been  quite  so  free  in  my  disclosures 
to  him  of  my  own  mind.  I  did  not  know  how  it  had 
happened.  It  was  not  like  me.  I  ought  to  have  kept  him 
more  at  a  distance,  kindly  of  course.  One,  or  two, 
kisses — my  cheek  burnt  at  the  thought — were  the  utmost 
he  should  have  been  allowed ;  and  I  ought  to  have  been 
more  reserved,  and  without  denying  the  truth,  to  have 
kept  myself  more  in  my  own  power.  I  resolved  I  would 
do  it  in  the  future.  I  would  keep  my  own  place.  Mr. 
Thorold  might  indeed  know  what  he  was  to  me  and  what 
I  was  to  him ;  I  did  not  mean  to  hide  that ;  but  he  must 
be  satisfied  with  knowing  it  and  not  take  any  liberties 
with  the  knowledge. 

So  I  went  to  sleep ;  but  my  sleep  was  heavy  and 
scarcely  refreshing.  I  woke  up,  startled  with  the  thought 
that  I  was  in  Washington  and  might  see  Christian  to- 


AT   THE  RENDEZVOUS.  31 

day.     And  I   found  the  desire  quite  outran  the  possi 
bility. 

I  was  therefore  ready  to  agree  to  all  the  plans  of  my 
companions ;  which  included  for  that  day  a  ride  to  the 
camps  and  the  President's  reception.  Abroad,  amidst 
the  stir  of  men,  especially  where  soldiers  were  or  soldiers' 
work  was  done,  I  might  hope  to  see  Christian.  What 
then,  if  I  saw  him  ?  I  left  that  point.  One  thing  at  a 
time. 


CHAPTER    III. 

IN     REVIEW. 

THERE  were  a  party  of  us  that  went  that  morning  to 
see  the  sights  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Washington.  On 
horseback  we  were;  Dr.  Sandford  and  Mrs.  Sandford, 
Col.  Forsyth,  whom  I  had  seen  at  West  Point,  another 
gentleman,  and  myself.  I  suppose  my  senses  were  keened 
by  anxiety ;  I  never  shall  forget  the  wonderful  beauty 
of  the  afternoon  and  of  what  we  came  to  see.  In  some 
intense  moods  of  mind,  it  seems  as  if  every  sunbeam  had 
daguerreotyping  power,  and  memory  the  preparedness  to 
receive  and  retain.  And  I  could  tell  even  now,  where 
there  was  a  sunny  bank,  and  where  a  group  of  sun- 
touched  trees ;  the  ring  of  our  horses'  hoofs  is  in  my  ear 
with  a  thought ;  and  I  could  almost  paint  from  memory 
the  first  view  of  the  camp  we  went  to  see.  We  had 
crossed  over  into  Virginia;  and  this  regiment,  it  was 
Ellsworth's  they  told  me,  was  encamped  upon  a  hill, 
where  tents  and  trees  and  uniforms  made  a  bright,  very 
picturesque,  picture.  Ellsworth's  corps;  and  he  was 
gone  already.  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  that ;  and 
while  the  rest  of  the  party  were  busy  and  merry  over  the 
camp  doings,  I  sat  in  my  saddle  looking  over  some  lower 
grounds  below  the  hill,  where  several  other  regiments 
were  going  through  certain  exercises.  It  looked  like 
war!  it  went  through  my  heart.  And  Ellsworth's 
soldiers  had  lost  their  commander  already.  Very  likely 
there  was  somebody  to  miss  and  mourn  him ;  somebody 
at  home ;  his  mother — a  young  wife,  perhaps — 

32 


IN  REVIEW.  O.i 

*  Is  Daisy  tired  already  ?'  Dr.  Sandford's  voice  was  at 
my  side. 

I  roused  myself  and  said  we  had  had  a  pretty  brisk 
ride,  and  I  had  not  been  on  horseback  in  a  long  time ; 
which  was  true  and  I  felt  it. 

'  Has  it  been  too  much  for  you  ?'  he  said  with  a  change 
of  tone. 

I  disclaimed  that. 

'  These  war-shows  make  you  thoughtful  ?' 

'  They  give  me  something  to  think  about.' 

'They  need  not.' 

*  How  can  they  help  it  ?' 

'  Daisy,  I  am  confident  there  is  not  the  slightest  danger 
to  Washington.  Do  you  think  I  would  have  brought 
you  into  danger  ?' 

'O  I  am  not  thinking  of  danger  to  myself!'  I  ex 
claimed.  '  I  am  not  afraid  in  that  way.' 

'  For  the  country,  are  you  afraid  ?' 

'  Dr.  Sandford,  do  you  think  there  is  real  danger  to 
the  country  ?'  I  asked. 

1  The  South  will  do  what  they  can.' 

( Do  you  expect  the  North  will  be  able  to  stand  against 
them  ?' 

1  You  do  not,' — he  said  smiling. 

'  I  know  nothing  about  it,'  I  said ;  '  or  at  least,  I  know 
very  little  of  what  the  North  can  do.  Of  course,  I  know 
some  Northern  soldiers  will  fight  as  well  as  any ;  but,  do 
you  think,  Dr.  Sandford,  they  can  stand — the  greater 
part  of  them — do  you  think  they  can  meet  the  bravery 
and  skill  of  the  South  and  get  the  better  ?' 

I  asked  anxiously.     Dr.  Sandford's  brow  grew  grave. 

*  Daisy,  I  don't  know,  as  you  say;  but  I  have  lived 
among  the  Northern   people   in  my  life;  and  when  a 
Yankee  "takes  a  notion,"  he  is  as  taugh  a  customer  aa 
ever  I  wish  to  have  to  deal  with.' 

c 


34  DAISY. 

I  But  they  are  not  accustomed  to  fighting/  I  said. 

I 1  am  afraid  they  will  be,  before  it  is  through.' 

'  Then  you  think  they  are  as  brave  as  the  South  ?  Can 
they  be  f 

Dr.  Saiidford  laughed  at  me  a  good  deal.  ISTeverthe' 
less  I  could  not  find  out  what  he  thought ;  and  I  knew,  I 
thought,  wh&,t  he  did  not  know  so  well.  I  knew  the  fiery 
proud  spirit  of  my  native  portion  of  the  people.  While 
his  banter  fell  on  my  ears,  my  eyes  went  off  to  the  sunlit 
green  fields  whei-e  the  troops  were  parading ;  on  Southern 
soil ;  and  I  saw  in  imagination  the  rush  and  fury  of 
vengeful  onset,  which  might  come  over  those  very  fields ; 
I  saw  the  unequal  contest ;  I  saw — what  happened  soon 
after.  I  sighed  as  I  turned  my  eyes  to  the  doctor  again. 

'  You  are  more  of  a  Southerner  than  I  thought  you/ 
he  said.  And  I  fancied  some  gratification  lurked  behind 
the  words. 

'  But  you  are  true  ?'  I  exclaimed. 

'True!'  said  the  doctor,  smiling.  'True  to  what?  I 
hope  I  am  true.' 

'  I  mean,  you  are  a  true  Northerner  ?  you  do  not  sym 
pathize  with  the  South  ?' 

'  I  do  not  think  they  are  in  the  right,  Daisy ;  and  I 
cannot  say  I  wish  they  should  succeed.  It  is  very  natu 
ral  that  you  should  wish  it.' 

1 1  do  not/  I  said.     '  I  wish  the  right  to  succeed.' 

'  I  believe  you  do,  or  you  would  not  be  Daisy.  But, 
with  a  woman, — excuse  me, — the  right  is  where  her  heart 
is.' 

Dr.  Sandford  touched  so  much  more  than  he  knew  in 
this  speech,  I  felt  my  cheek  grow  hot.  I  thought  at  the 
same  time  that  he  was  speaking  with  the  intent  to  find 
out  more  than  he  knew.  I  was  silent  and  kept  my  face 
turned  from  him.  . 

'  You  do  not  plead  guilty/  he  went  on. 


IN  REVIEW.  35 

'  The  charge  is  not  guilt,  but  weakness/  I  said  coolly. 

'Weakness!'  said  the  doctor.  'Not  at  all.  It  is  a 
woman's  strength.' 

'  To  be  misled  by  her  feelings  ?' 

'  No ;  to  be  led  by  them.  Her  feelings  tell  her  where 
the  right  is — generally.  You  are  Daisy ;  but  a  woman, 
and  therefore  perhaps  no  exception.  Or  are  you  an  ex 
ception  ?  How  is  it,  Daisy  ?' 

'  I  do  not  wish  the  South  to  succeed,  Dr.  Sandford — if 
that  is  what  you  mean.' 

*  It  is  quite  enough,'  he  said,  '  to  constitute  you  a  re 
markable  exception.  I  do  not  know  three  more  at  this 
minute,  in  this  cause.  You  will  not  have  the  sympathies 
of  your  father  and  mother,  Daisy  ?' 

'No,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

'Your  cousin,  Mr.  Gary,  whom  we  saw  last  summer; — • 
on  which  side  is  he  ?' 

'  I  have  not  heard  from  him  since  he  came  to  Wash 
ington.  I  do  not  know  where  he  is.  I  want  to  find  out.' 

'We  can  easily  find  out,'  said  the  doctor.  'If  Col. 
Forsyth  does  not  know,  we  shall  see  somebody  this  even 
ing  probably  who  can  tell  us  about  him.' 

We  rode  home  through  the  lingering  sunlight  of  that 
long  day ;  uniforms,  camps,  fortifications,  cannon,  on  all 
sides  proclaiming  the  new  and  strange  state  of  things  upon 
which  the  country  had  fallen ;  busy  people  passing  and 
repassing  in  all  directions ;  an  air  of  life  and  stir  every 
where  that  would  have  been  delightful,  if  the  reason  had 
been  only  different.  It  saddened  me.  I  had  to  make  a 
constant  effort  to  hide  the  fact  from  my  companions. 
One  of  them  watched  me,  I  knew.  Dr.  Sandford  thought 
I  was  tired  ;  and  proposed  that  we  should  defer  going  to 
the  White  House  until  the  next  occasion  ;  but  I  could  not 
rest  at  home  and  insisted  on  carrying  out  the  original 
richeme  for  the  day.  I  was  in  a  fever  now  to  see  Mr. 


36  DAISY. 

Thorold ;  keeping  up  a  constant  watch  for  him,  which 
wearied  me.  To  watch  with  more  hope  of  success,  I 
would  go  to  the  President's  reception.  Mr.  Thorold 
might  be  there. 

Mrs.  Sandford,  I  remember,  was  very  earnest  about  my 
dress.  I  was  in  no  danger  from  gratified  or  ungratified 
vanity  now ;  it  was  something  else  that  moved  me  as  I 
robed  myself  for  that  reception.  And  I  met  my  escort  in 
the  drawing-room,  forgetting  that  my  dress  could  be  a 
subject  of  interest  to  anybody  but  one, — who  might  not 
see  it. 

'  Why  that  is — yes !  that  is  the  very  same  thing  you 
wore  to  the  cadets'  hop;  the  last  hop  you  went  to,  Daisy?' 
Mrs.  Sandford  exclaimed  as  she  surveyed  me. 

'  It  will  do,  won't  it  ?'  I  said.  '  I  have  had  nothing 
new  made  this  spring.' 

'  Do !'  said  the  lady.     '  What  do  you  think,  Grant  ?' 

Dr.  Sandford's  face  was  a  little  flushed. 

1  Anything  will  do,'  he  said.  '  It  makes  less  difference 
than  ladies  suppose.' 

'  It  has  more  to  do  than  gentlemen  ever  imagine !'  Mrs. 
Sandford  returned  indignantly.  '  It  is  very  good,  Daisy. 
That  pure  white  somehow  suits  you ;  but  I  believe  every 
thing  suits  you,  my  dear.  Your  mother  will  be  a  proud 
woman.' 

That  sentence  laid  a  little  weight  on  my  heart,  which 
had  just  been  springing  with  undefined  hope.  I  had 
been  thinking  of  somebody  else  who  might  perhaps  be 
not  displeased  with  me. 

I  sought  for  his  figure  that  night,  among  the  crowds 
at  the  President's  reception ;  amidst  all  the  other  inter 
ests  of  the  hour,  that  one  was  never  forgotten.  And 
there  were  many  interests  certainly  clustering  about 
Washington  and  Washington  society  then.  The  assem 
bly  was  very  peculiar,  very  marked,  very  striking  in 


IN  REVIEW.  37 

many  of  its  characteristics.  The  women  were  few,  much 
fewer  than  make  part  of  ordinary  assemblies ;  the  men 
were  unusually  well-looking,  it  seemed  to  me ;  and  had 
an  air  of  life  and  purpose  and  energy  in  definite  exer 
cise,  which  was  very  refreshing  to  meet.  Besides  that, 
which  was  generally  true,  there  were  in  Washington  at 
this  time  many  marked  men,  and  men  of  whom  much 
was  expected.  The  last  have  been  first,  it  is  true,  in 
many  an  instance ;  here  as  elsewhere ;  nevertheless,  the 
aspect  of  things  and  people  at  the  time  was  novel  and 
interesting  in  the  highest  degree.  So  was  the  talk. 
Insipidities  were  no  longer  tolerated ;  everybody  was 
living,  in  some  real  sense,  now. 

I  had  my  second  view  of  the  President,  and  nearer  by. 
It  did  not  disappoint  me,  nor  change  the  impression  pro 
duced  by  the  first  view.  What  a  homely  face !  but  I 
thought  withal,  what  a  fine  face!  Rugged,  and  soft; 
gentle,  and  shrewd;  Miss  Cardigan's  "Yon's  a  mon!" 
recurred  to  me  often.  A  man,  every  inch  of  him ;  self- 
respecting,  self-dependent,  having  a  sturdy  mind  of  his 
own ;  but  wise  also  to  bide  his  time ;  strong  to  wait  and 
endure;  modest,  to  receive  from  others  all  they  could 
give  him  of  aid  and  counsel.  But  the  honest,  keen, 
kindly  eyes  won  my  heart. 

The  evening  was  very  lively.  There  were  a  great 
many  people  to  see  and  talk  to,  whom  it  was  pleasant  to 
hear.  Dr.  Sandford  I  always  knew  was  a  favourite ;  but 
it  seemed  to  me  this  evening  that  our  party  was  thronged. 
Indeed  I  had  little  chance  and  less  time  to  look  for  Mr. 
Thorold ;  and  the  little  I  could  use  availed  me  nothing. 
I  was  sure  he  was  not  there ;  for  he  certainly  would  have 
seen  me.  And  what  then?  It  would  not  have  been 
agreeable.  I  began  to  think  with  myself  that  I  was 
somewhat  inconsistent. 

It  was  not  till  I  got  home  that  I  thought  this,  how- 

VOL.  II. — 4 


38  DAISY. 

ever.  I  had  no  time  for  private  reflections  till  then. 
When  we  reached  home,  Mrs.  Sandford  was  in  a  talkative 
mood ;  the  doctor  very  silent. 

'  And  what  do  you  think  of  Gen.  Scott,  Daisy  ?  you 
have  not  seen  him  before.' 

'  I  do  not  know,'  I  said.    '  I  did  not  hear  him  talk.' 

*  You  have  not  heard  Mr.  Lincoln  talk,  have  you  ?' 

'  No,  certainly  not ;  not  before  to  night.' 

'You  know  how  you  like  him,'  Dr.  Sandford  said 
pointedly. 

'Yes.  My  dear,  you  made  him  the  most  beautiful 
reverence  that  I  ever  knew  a  woman  could  make ;  grace 
and  homage  in  perfection ;  but  there  was  something  else 
in  it,  Daisy,  something  more ;  something  most  exquisitely 
expressed.  What  was  it,  Grant  ?' 

'  You  ought  to  know,'  said  the  doctor  with  a  grim 
smile. 

'  I  do,  I  suppose,  only  I  cannot  tell  the  word  for  it. 
Daisy  have  you  ever  seen  the  President  before  ?' 

'  When  he  passed  through  New  York,'  I  said.  '  I 
stood  in  the  street  to  see  him.' 

Dr.  Sandford's  eyes  opened  upon  me.  His  sister-in- 
law  exclaimed, 

'You  could  not  see  him  ihen,  child.  But  you  like 
him,  don't  you  ?  Well,  they  tell  all  sorts  of  stories  about 
him ;  but  I  do  not  believe  half  of  them.' 

I  thought,  I  could  believe  all  the  good  ones. 

'But  Grant,  you  never  can  keep  Daisy  here,'  Mrs. 
Sandford  went  on.  '  It  would  be  hazardous  in  the  ex 
treme.' 

'  Not  very,'  said  the  doctor.  '  Nobody  else  is  going  to 
etay  ;  it  is  a  floating  community.' 

So  we  parted  for  the  night.  And  I  slept,  the  dark 
hours  ;  but  restlessness  took  possession  of  me  the  moment 
I  awoke.  Dr.  Sandford's  last  words  rung  in  my  heart. 


IN  REVIEW.  3D 

'  It  is  a  floating  community.'  '  Nobody  else  is  going  to 
stay.'  I  must  see  Mr.  Thorold.  What  if  lie  should  be 
ordered  on,  away  from  Washington  somewhere,  and  my 
opportunity  be  lost  ?  I  knew  to  be  sure  that  he  had  been 
very  busy  training  and  drilling  some  of  the  new  troops ; 
and  I  hoped  there  was  enough  of  the  same  work  on  hand 
to  keep  him  busy ;  but  I  could  not  know.  With  the 
desire  to  find  him,  began  to  mingle  now  some  foretaste 
of  the  pain  of  parting  from  him  again  when  I — or  he — 
should  leave  the  city.  A  drop  of  bitter  which  I  began 
to  taste  distinctly  in  my  cup. 

I  was  to  learn  now,  how  difficult  it  sometimes  is  in  new 
forms  of  trial,  to  be  quiet  and  submissive  and  trust.  I 
used  to  be  able  to  trust  myself  and  my  wants  with  God ; 
I  found  at  this  time  that  the  human  cry  of  longing,  and 
of  fear,  was  very  hard  to  still.  I  was  ready  to  trust,  if 
I  might  only  see  Mr.  Thorold.  I  was  willing  to  wait,  if 
only  we  might  not  be  separated  at  last.  But  now  to 
trust  and  to  wait,  when  all  was  in  doubt  for  me ;  when 
if  I  missed  this  sight  of  my  friend  I  might  never  have 
another;  when  all  the  future  was  a  cloudy  sea  and  a 
rocky  shore ;  I  felt  that  I  must  have  this  one  moment  of 
peace.  Yet  I  prayed  for  it  submissively ;  but  I  an? 
afraid  my  heart  made  its  own  cry  unsubmissively. 

I  was  restless.  The  days  that  followed  the  President's 
levee  were  one  after  the  other  filled  up  with  engagements 
and  amusements, — if  I  can  give  that  term  to  what  had 
such  deep  and  thrilling  interest  for  me;  but  I  grew  only 
more  secretly  restless  with  every  one.  My  companions 
seemed  to  find  it  all  amusement,  the  rides  and  parades 
and  receptions  that  were  constantly  going  on ;  I  only  saw 
everywhere  the  preparation  for  a  desperate  game  soon  to 
be  played.  The  Secessionists  threatened  Washington; 
and  said  "only  wait  till  the  Fourth."  The  people  in 
Washington  laughed  at  this ;  yet  now  and  then  I  saw  one 


40  DAISY. 

who  did  not  laugh;  and  such  were  often  some  of  those 
who  should  know  best  and  judge  most  wisely.  Troops 
were  gathered  under  Beauregard's  command  not  very  far 
from  the  capital.  I  knew  the  dash  and  fire  and  uncom 
promising  temper  of  the  people  I  was  born  among;  I 
could  not  despise  their  threats  nor  hold  light  their  power. 
My  anxiety  grew  to  see  Mr.  Thorold;  but  I  could  not. 
I  watched  and  watched;  nothing  like  him  crossed  my 
vision.  Once,  riding  home  late  at  night  from  a  gay  visit 
to  one  of  the  neighbouring  camps,  we  had  drawn  bridle  in 
passing  the  grounds  of  the  Treasury  Building,  where  the 
Eleventh  Massachusetts  regiment  was  encamped;  and 
slowly  walking  by,  were  endeavouring  to  distinguish 
forms  and  sounds  through  the  dim  night  air — forms  and 
sounds  so  novel  in  Washington  and  so  suggestive  of  in 
terests  at  stake  and  dangers  at  hand ;  when  the  distinct 
clatter  of  a  horse's  hoofs  in  full  gallop  came  down  the 
street  and  passed  closed  by  me.  The  light  of  a  passing 
lamp  just  brushed  the  flying  horseman;  not  enough  to 
discover  him,  but  enough  to  lift  my  heart  into  my  mouth. 
I  could  not  tell  whether  it  were  Mr.  Thorold ;  I  cannot 
tell  what  I  saw ;  only  my  nerves  were  unstrung  in  a  mo 
ment,  and  for  the  rest  of  that  night  I  tossed  with  impa 
tient  pain.  The  idea  of  being  so  near  Mr.  Thorold,  was 
more  than  I  could  bear.  One  other  time,  in  a  crowd,  I 
heard  a  bit  of  a  laugh  which  thrilled  me.  My  efforts  to 
see  the  person  from  whom  it  came  were  good  for  nothing ; 
nobody  like  my  friend  was  in  sight,  or  near  me ;  yet  that 
laugh  haunted  me  for  two  days. 

'I  do  not  think  Washington  agrees  with  Daisy,'  Mrs. 
Sandford  said  one  morning  at  breakfast. 

'She  never  looked  better,'  said  the  doctor. 

'No.  O  I  don't  mean  that;  she  looks  all  herself;  yes, 
she  is  in  great  beauty ;  but  she  is  uncommonly  abstracted 
and  uninterested.' 


IN  REVIEW.  41 

being  in  general  a  sensitive  person/  observed  Dr. 
Sandford. 

I  explained  that  I  had  never  been  more  interested  in 
my  life ;  but  that  these  things  made  me  sober. 

'My  dear  Daisy!'  Mrs.  Sandford  laughed.  'You 
were  never  anything  but  sober  yet,  in  all  your  little  life. 
I  should  like  to  see  you  intoxicated.' 

I  felt  on  dangerous  ground  and  was  silent.  The  doctor 
asked  why? — to  Mrs.  Sandford's  last  speech. 

'No  matter!'  said  the  lady.  'The  first  man  she  loves 
will  know  why.' 

'The  first,'  said  Dr.  Sandford  dryly.  'I  hope  she  will 
not  love  more  than  one.' 

'She  will  be  an  uncommonly  happy  woman  then,'  said 
Mrs.  Sandford.  'Nonsense,  Grant!  every  woman  loves 
two  or  three  before  she  has  done.  Your  first  liking  will 
come  to  nothing,  Daisy  my  dear,  I  forewarn  you ;  and 
most  probably  the  second  too;  but  no  one  will  be  the 
wiser  but . yourself.  Why  don't  you  blush,  child?  On 
my  word,  I  believe  you  are  growing  pale!  Never  mind, 
child;  I  am  not  a  prophet.' 

I  believe  the  blushes  came  then,  and  they  all  laughed 
at  me;  but  Dr.  Sandford  asked  me  very  kindly  if  I  was 
too  tired  to  see  the  review  that  day?  I  was  not  tired; 
and  if  I  had  been,  nothing  would  have  tempted  me  to  be 
absent  from  the  review.  I  went  everywhere,  as  far  as  I 
could ;  and  Dr.  Sandford  was  always  with  us,  indulging 
every  fancy  I  expressed  or  did  not  express,  it  seemed  to 
me.  He  had  to  work  very  hard  at  other  times  to  make 
up  for  it;  and  I  thought  Washington  did  not  agree  with 
him.  He  looked  pale  and  jaded  this  day. 

I  thought  so  after  the  morning's  work  was  done ;  at 
the  time  I  had  no  leisure  for  such  thoughts.  The  morn 
ing's  work  was  a  review  of  many  thousand  troops,  by  the 
President.  Dr.  Sandford  and  our  friends  had  secured  an 

4* 


42  DAISY. 

excellent  place  for  us,  from  which  we  could  well  see  all 
we  wished  to  see ;  and  I  wished  to  see  everything.  For 
various  reasons.  The  platform  where  Mr.  Lincoln  stood 
had  its  own  peculiar  attractions  and  interests.  It  held 
himself,  first  of  all,  standing  in  front,  in  plain  view  much 
of  the  time.  It  held  besides  a  group  of  men  that  one 
liked  to  look  at  just  then.  Gen.  Scott  was  there,  and  I 
know  not  how  many  other  generals ;  the  members  of  the 
Cabinet,  and  inferior  military  officers ;  and  each  colonel 
of  the  regiments  that  passed  in  review,  after  passing,  dis 
mounted  and  joined  the  group  on  the  platform.  I  looked 
at  these  officers  with  particular  interest,  for  they  and 
their  command  were  going  straight  across  into  Virginia 
expecting  active  service  soon.  So  I  looked  at  their  men. 
While  each  regiment  marched  by,  the  band  belonging  to 
it  halted  and  played.  They  were  going  to  the  war.  In 
good  earnest  they  were  going  now.  This  was  no  show  of 
pleasure ;  it  was  work ;  and  my  heart,  it  seemed  to  me, 
alternately  beat  and  stood  still.  Sometimes  the  oppres 
sion  of  feeling  grew  very  painful,  obliged  as  I  was  to  hide 
carefully  the  greater  part  of  what  I  felt.  A  little  addi 
tional  stir  was  almost  more  than  I  could  bear.  One  regi 
ment — the  Garibaldis,  I  think,  had  bouquets  of  flowers 
and  greens  in  their  hats.  I  did  not  indeed  notice  this, 
until  the  foremost  came  just  in  front  of  the  platform  and 
the  President.  Then  the  bouquets  were  taken  out  from 
the  hats,  and  were  tossed,  in  military  order,  rank  by 
rank,  as  the  files  passed  by,  to  Mr.  Lincoln's  feet.  It 
was  a  little  thing ;  but  how  it  shook  me!  I  was  glad  of 
the  rush  which  followed  the  passing  of  the  regiment ;  the 
rush  of  people  eager  to  secure  these  bunches  of  flowers 
and  evergreens  for  memorials ;  the  diversion  of  interest 
for  a  moment  gave  me  chance  to  fight  down  my  heart- 
swelling. 

'  Daisy !  you  are — what  is  the  matter  ?    You  are  not 


IN  REVIEW.  43 

well — you  are  tired,' — my  guardian  exclaimed  anxiously, 
as  he  came  back  to  my  side  with  one  of  the  Garibaldi 
flower  bunches. 

'  I  am  well — you  are  mistaken,  Dr.  Sandford,'  I  made 
myself  say  quietly. 

'For  which  side  are  you  so  anxious?'  he  inquired. 
'You  are  paler  than  you  ought  to  be,  at  this  moment, 
with  a  smile  on  your  lips.  I  got  this  for  you — will  you 
scorn  it,  or  value  it  ?' 

'  You  would  not  waste  it  upon  me,  if  you  thought  I 
would  scorn  it  ?'  I  said. 

'  I  don't  know.  J  am  not  infatuated  about  anybody. 
You  may  have  the  bouquet,  Daisy.  Will  you  have  it  ?' 

I  did  not  want  to  have  it !  I  was  not  amusing  myself, 
as  many  and  as  Mrs.  Sandford  were  doing ;  this  was  not 
an  interesting  little  bit  of  greens  to  me,  but  a  handful  of 
pain.  I  held  it,  as  one  holds  such  handfuls ;  till  the  regi 
ment,  which  had  halted  a  little  while  at  Willard's,  was 
ordered  forward  and  took  the  turning  from  Pennsylvania 
Avenue  into  the  road  leading  to  Virginia.  With  that, 
the  whole  regiment  burst  into  song ;  I  do  not  know  what ; 
a  deep-voiced  grave  melody  from  a  thousand  throats, 
cheering  their  advance  into  the  quarter  of  the  enemy  and 
of  actual  warfare.  I  forgot  Dr.  Sandford  then,  whose 
watchful  eyes  I  generally  remembered ;  I  ceased  to  see 
the  houses  or  the  people  before  me ;  for  my  eyes  grew  dim 
with  tea$s  it  was  impossible  to  keep  back ;  and  I  listened 
to  nothing  but  that  mellow,  ominous,  sweet,  bitter,  strain, 
till  the  sound  faded  away  in  the  distance.  Then  I  found 
that  my  cheeks  were  wet,  and  that  Mrs.  Sandford  was 
wondering. 

'  This  is  what  it  is  to  have  an  ear  for  music !'  she  said. 
'  There  is  positively  no  possession  which  does  not  bring 
some  inconvenience  on  the  possessor.  My  dear  Daisy, 
you  are  in  pain  ;  those  were  not  tears  of  joy  ;  what  did 


44  DAISY. 

that  chant  say  to  your  sensibilities?  To  mine  it  only 
sounded  strength,  and  victory.  If  the  arms  of  those — 
what  are  they  ? — that  regiment, — if  their  arms  are  only 
constituted  proportionately  to  their  throats,  they  must  do 
good  fighting.  I  should  think  nothing  would  stand  be 
fore  them.  Daisy,  they  will  certainly  bear  down  all 
opposition.  Are  you  afraid  ?  Here  is  the  Fourth,  and 
Washington  safe  yet,  for  all  the  Southern  bluster.' 

'  I  do  not  think  you  had  better  try  to  go  to  the  Capitol/ 
the  doctor  put  in. 

'  What,  to  see  the  meeting  of  Congress  ?  O  yes,  we 
will.  I  am  not  going  to  miss  it.' 

'  Daisy  will  not  ?'  he  asked. 

But  Daisy  would.  I  would  try  every  chance.  I  did 
not  at  the  moment  care  for  Congress ;  my  wish  was  to 
find  Mr.  Thorold.  At  the  review  I  knew  I  had  little 
reason  to  hope  for  what  I  wanted  ;  at  the  Capitol — after 
all,  what  chance  there  ?  when  Mr.  Thorold  was  drilling 
troops  from  morning  till  night ;  unless  he  had  been 
already  sent  out  of  Washington.  But  I  would  go.  If  I 
had  dared,  I  would  have  expressed  a  desire  to  see  some 
troops  drilled.  I  did  not  dare. 

I  remember  nothing  of  the  scene  at  the  Capitol,  ex 
cept  the  sea  of  heads,  the  crowd,  and  the  heat ;  my  in 
tense  scrutiny  of  the  crowd,  and  the  weariness  that  grew 
on  me.  Mrs.  Sandford  had  friends  to  talk  to ;  I  only 
wished  I  need  not  speak  to  anybody.  It  was,,  a  weary 
day ;  for  I  could  not  see  Mr.  Thorold,  and  I  could  not 
hear  the  President's  Message.  I  was  so  placed  or  so  sur 
rounded  that  it  came  to  me  only  in  bits.  Wearily  we 
went  home. 

At  least,  Dr.  Sandford  and  I.  Mrs.  Sandford  tried  in 
vain  to  rally  us. 

'  There  is  to  be  a  marriage  in  camp,'  she  said.  '  What 
do  you  think  of  that,  Daisy  ?  We  can  have  invitations, 


IN  REVIEW.  45 

if  we  like.  Shall  we  like?  Wouldn't  it  be  a  curious 
scene  ?  Daisy  is  interested,  I  see.  Grant,  no.  What  is 
the  matter,  Grant  ?' 

'  I  hope,  nothing,'  said  the  doctor. 

1  Will  you  go,  if  I  get  you  an  invitation  ?' 

'  Who  is  to  be  married?' 

1  La  fille  du  regiment.' 

'  It  takes  two,'  said  the  doctor. 

'  O !  The  other  is  a  sergeant,  I  believe ;  some  sergeant 
of  the  same  regiment.  They  are  to  be  married  to-mor 
row  evening ;  and  it  is  to  be  by  moonlight  and  torch 
light  and  everything  odd ;  up  on  that  beautiful  hill 
where  we  were  the  other  day,  where  the  trees  and  the 
tents  make  such  a  pretty  mingling  with  red  caps  and 
everything  else.' 

'I  hope  the  ceremony  will  be  performed  by  comet 
light,  too,'  said  Dr.  Sandjford.  'It  ought,  to  be  in 
character.' 

'  You  do  not  feel  well  to-night,  Grant  ?' 

'  Tired.  So  is  Daisy.  Are  you  tired  of  Washington, 
Daisy?' 

'Oh  no!'  I  said  eagerly.  'Not  at  all.  I  like  very 
much  to  be  here.' 

'Then  we  will  go  and  see  the  sergeant's  wedding/ 
said  he. 

But  we  did  not ;  for  the  next  day  it  was  found  to  be 
only  too*  true  that  Dr.  Sandford  was  unwell.  Perhaps 
he  had  been  working  too  hard;  at  any  rate,  he  was 
obliged  to  confess  to  being  ill ;  and  a  day  or  two  more 
settled  the  question  of  the  amount  of  his  indisposition. 
He  had  a  low  fever,  and  was  obliged  to  give  up  to  it. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ON     FOOT. 

MRS.  SANDFORD  devoted  herself  to  the  doctor.  Of 
course,  a  sudden  stop  was  put  to  our  gay  amusements.  I 
could  not  ride  or  drive  out  any  more ;  nor  would  I  go 
to  entertainments  anywhere.  The  stir  and  the  rush  of 
the  world  had  quietly  dropped  me  out  of  it. 

Yet  I  was  more  than  ever  eager  to  be  in  it  and  know 
what  was  doing ;  and  above  all,  what  one  was  doing.  I 
studied  the  newspapers,  mpre  assiduously  than  I  had 
hitherto  had  time  for.  They  excited  me  almost  unbearably 
with  the  desire  to  know  more  than  they  told,  and  with 
unnumbered  fears  and  anxieties.  I  took  to  walking,  to 
wear  away  part  of  the  restless  uneasiness  which  had  set 
tled  upon  me.  I  walked  in  the  morning ;  I  walked  at 
evening,  when  the  sun's  light  was  off  the  avenue  and  the 
air  a  little  cooler ;  and  kept  myself  out  of  the  house  as 
much  as  I  could. 

It  was  so  that  I  came  upon  my  object,  when  I  was  not 
seeking  it.  One  evening  I  was  walking  up  Pennsylvania 
avenue ;  slowly,  for  the  evening  was  warm,  although  the 
sun  had  gone  down.  Slowly  and  disconsolately.  My 
heart  began  to  fail  me.  I  pondered  writing  a  word  to 
Mr.  Thorold,  now  that  I  was  completely  at  liberty ;  and 
I  wished  I  had  done  it  at  once  upon  Dr.  Sandford's  be 
coming  ill.  Two  or  three  days'  time  had  been  lost.  I 
should  have  to  take  the  note  to  the  post-office  myself; 
but  that  would  not  be  impossible  now,  as  it  had  been 

46 


ON  FOOT.  47 

until  now.  While  I  was  thinking  these  things,  I  saw  a 
horseman  riding  down  the  avenue ;  a  single  horseman, 
coming  at  a  fast  gallop.  I  had  never  seen  Mr.  Thorold 
on  horseback ;  yet  from  almost  the  first  sight  of  this 
mounted  figure  my  heart  said  with  a  bound  who  it  was. 
I  stood  still  by  the  curbstone,  looking  breathlessly.  I 
felt  more  and  more  sure  as  he  drew  nearer,  if  that  can  be 
when  I  had  been  sure  all  along ;  but,  would  he  know 
me?  Would  he  even  see  me,  in  the  first  place?  So 
many  ladies  walk  on  Pennsylvania  avenue ;  why  should 
his  eye  pick  me  out  ?  and  he  was  riding  so  fast  too,  there 
would  be  but  one  instant  to  see  or  miss  me.  I  would  not 
like  to  go  again  through  the  suspense  of  that  minute, 
though  it  was  almost  too  intense  to  be  conscious  pain.  I 
stood,  all  eyes,  while  that  figure  came  on,  steady,  swift, 
and  moveless,  but  for  the  quick  action  of  the  horse's 
muscles.  I  dared  not  make  a  sign,  although  I  felt  mor 
ally  sure  who  it  was,  until  he  was  quite  close  to  me; 
then,  I  do  not  know  whether  I  made  it  or  not.  I  think 
not;  but  the  horse  wheeled,  just  as  he  was  past  me;  I 
did  not  know  a  horse  could  wheel  so  short;  and  the 
rider  had  dismounted  at  the  same  instant  it  seemed,  for 
he  was  there,  at  my  side,  and  my  hand  in  his.  I  cer 
tainly  forgot  at  that  minute  all  I  had  stored  up  to  say  to 
Mr.  Thorold,  in  the  one  great  throb  of  joy.  He  did  not 
promise  to  be  easily  managed,  either. 

'Daisy!'  was  his  first  question — 'Daisy,  where  have 
you  been?' 

'I  have  been  here — a  while.' 

'  I  heard  it  from  Aunt  Catherine  yesterday — I  should 
have  found  you  before  another  day  went  over — Daisy, 
how  long?' 

I  hardly  liked  to  tell  him,  he  looked  so  eager  and  so 
imperative,  and  so  much  as  if  he  had  a  right  to  know, 
and  to  have  known.  But  he  did  not  wait  for  the  answer; 


48  DAISY. 

and  instead,  drawing  my  arm  within  his  own,  bent  down 
to  me  with  looks  and  words  so  glad,  so  tender,  so  bright, 
that  I  trembled  with  a  new  feeling,  and  all  the  blood  in 
my  heart  came  surging  up  to  my  face  and  away  again. 
The  bridle  was  over  his  other  arm,  and  the  horse  with 
drooped  head  walked  on  the  other  side  of  him,  while  Mr. 
Thorold  led  me  on  in  this  fashion.  I  do  not  know  how 
far.  I  do  not  know  what  he  said  or  what  I  answered,  ex 
cept  in  bits.  I  know  that  he  made  me  answer  him.  I 
was  not  capable  of  the  least  self-assertion.  What  startled 
me  at  last  out  of  this  abstraction,  was  the  sudden  fear 
that  we  might  be  observed.  I  looked  up  and  said  some 
thing  about  it.  Only  to  my  confusion;  for  Thorold 
laughed  at  me,  softly,  but  how  he  laughed  at  me.  I  tried 
a  diversion. 

'Have  you  been  drilling  troops  to-day?' 

*  All  day ;  or  I  should  have  come  to  find  and  scold  you. 
By  the  way,  how  long  have  you  been  in  Washington, 
Daisy  ?' 

'  I  should  not  have  thought  you  would  ride  such  a  pace 
at  the  end  of  a  day's  work — you  did  not  ride  like  a  tired 
man.' 

'I  am  not  a  tired  man.  Didn't  I  tell  you,  I  had  a 
letter  from  A.unt  Catherine  yesterday.  I  have  felt  no  fa 
tigue  since.  When  did  you  come  here,  Daisy?' 

'  Christian,  I  could  not  let  you  know,  for  I  was  with 
my  guardian — he  is  a  sort  of  guardian  for  the  time — 
and — ' 

'Well?  I  know  your  guardian.  Dr.  Sandford,  isn't 
he?' 

'Yes,  but  he  would  not  like  to  see  you.' 

*I  don't  care  whether  he  likes  it  or  not,  Daisy/ 

'Yes,  but,  you  see,  Christian,  it  would  be  not  pleasant 
if  he  were  to  carry  me  off  away  from  Washington ;  as  he 
took  me  from  West  Point  last  year.' 


ON  FOOT.  49 

'To  get  you  away  from  me?' 

'He  would,  if  he  suspected  anything.' 

'  Daisy,  I  do  not  like  suspicions.  The  best  way  is  to 
let  him  know  the  truth.' 

'Ono,  Christian!' 

'  Why  not,  little  one?' 

'  I  would  rather  my  father  and  mother  heard  it  first 
from  you  in  person,'  I  answered,  stumbling  in  my  speech. 

'So  would  I,  Daisy;  but  the  times  are  against  us.  A 
letter  must  be  my  messenger;  and  Dr.  Sandford  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.' 

'He  would  think  he  had,'  I  answered,  feeling  the  dif 
ficulties  in  my  way. 

'Aren't  you  my  Daisy?'  he  said,  looking  down  into  my 
face  with  his  flashing  eyes,  all  alight  with  fire  and 
pleasure. 

'But  that — '  I  began. 

'No  evasions,  Daisy.     Answer.     Aren't  you  mine?' 

I  said  '  yes'  meekly.  But  what  other  words  I  had  pur 
posed  to  add  were  simply  taken  off  my  lips.  I  looked 
round,  in  scared  fashion,  to  see  who  was  near;  but 
Thorold  laughed  softly  again. 

'It  is  too  dark  for  people  to  make  minute  investiga 
tions,  Daisy.' 

'Dark!'  said  I.  'O  Christian,  I  must  go  home.  I 
shall  be  missed,  and  Mrs.  Sandford  will  be  frightened/ 

'Will  the  doctor  come  after  you?' 

'O  no,  he  is  sick;  but  Christian,  I  must  go  home.' 

He  turned  and  went  with  me,  changing  his  tone,  and 
making  a  variety  of  tender  inquiries  about  my  situation 
and  my  doings.  They  were  something  new;  they  were 
so  tender  of  me,  so  thoughtful  of  my  welfare,  so  protect 
ing  in  their  inquisitive  care;  and -moreover  they  were  the 
inquiries  of  one  who  had  a  right  to  know  all  about  me. 
Something  entirely  new  to  my  experience;  my  mother'* 
VOL.  ii.— 5  D 


50  DAISY. 

care  was  never  so  sympathetic ;  my  father's  never  so  fond ; 
even  my  guardian's  was  never  so  strict.  Dr.  Sandford  to 
be  sure  had  no  right  to  make  his  care  like  this.  I  did 
not  know  that  Mr.  Thorold  had ;  but  I  found  it  was  in 
disputable.  And  in  proportion  it  was  delightful.  We 
had  a  slow,  very  busy  walk  and  talk  until  within  a  few 
doors  of  my  Washington  home;  there  we  parted,  with  a 
long  hand  clasp,  and  the  promise  on  my  part  that  Mr. 
Thorold  should  find  me  at  the  same  hour  and  place  as  to 
day  on  the  next  evening. 

Nobody  was  looking  for  me,  and  I  gained  my  room  in 
safety.  I  was  very  happy,  yet  not  all  happy;  for  the 
first  use  I  made  of  my  solitude,  after  getting  rid  of  my 
bonnet  and  mantilla,  was  to  sit  down  and  cry.  I  asked 
myself  the  reason,  for  I  did  not  like  to  be  in  the  dark 
about  my  own  feelings ;  this  time  they  were  in  a  good 
deal  of  confusion. 

As  I  look  back,  I  think  the  uppermost  thing  was  my 
happiness;  this  new,  delicate,  strange  joy  which  had 
come  into  my  life  and  which  I  had  never  tasted  so  fully 
or  known  the  flavor  of  it  so  intimately  as  this  evening. 
Looks  and  tones,  and  little  nameless  things  of  manner 
telling  almost  more  yet,  came  back  to  me  in  a  small 
crowd  and  overwhelmed  me  with  their  testimony.  Affec 
tion,  and  tenderness,  and  pleasure ;  and  something  apart 
from  these,  an  inexplicable  assuming  of  me  and  delight  in 
me  as  so  assumed  ;  they  found  me  or  made  me  very  weak 
to-night.  What  was  the  matter?  I  believe  it  was,  first, 
this  happiness ;  and  next,  the  doubt  that  rested  over  it 
and  the  certainty  that  I  must  leave  it.  Certainly  my 
weeping  was  hearty  enough  to  answer  to  all  three  causes. 
It  was  a  very  unaccustomed  indulgence  to  me ;  or  not  an 
indulgence  at  all,  for  I  was  not  fond  of  tears ;  but  it  did 
act  as  a  relief.  I  washed  away  some  of  my  trouble  in  my 
tears ;  the  happiness  sprung  to  the  surface ;  and  then  I 


ON  FOOT.  61 

could  almost  weep  for  joy  and  thankfulness  that  I  was  so 
happy.  Even  if  the  grounds  of  my  happiness  were  pre 
carious,  I  had  trusted  God  all  my  life  with  all  I  cared 
for ;  could  I  not  trust  him  still  ?  My  tears  stopped  ;  and 
I  believe  one  or  two  smiles  could  not  be  checked  as  I  re 
membered  some  look  or  word  of  Mr.  Thorold's. 

I  was  to  see  him  the  next  evening ;  and  it  would  be 
hoove  me  to  lose  no  time  in  telling  him  all  the  various 
matters  I  had  wished  him  to  understand.  It  seemed  to 
me  there  was  something  to  reconsider  in  my  proposed 
communications.  I  had  to  tell  him  that  our  correspond 
ence  must  be  stopped.  Would  he  agree  to  that  ?  I  had 
thought  he  would  agree,  and  must,  to  anything  I  desired. 
To-night  assured  me  that  he  had  a  will  in  the  matter  too, 
and  that  his  will  was  strong.  Further,  it  assured  me  that 
he  had  a  right ;  and  knew  it.  Yet  it  was  impossible  that 
we  should  write  to  each  other  without  my  parents'  leave ; 
and  impossible  that  we  should  gain,  the  leave.  Mr. 
Thorold  would  have  to  see  the  matter  as  I  looked  at  it ; 
but  a  doubt  came  over  me  that  to  make  him  do  so  might 
prove  difficult.  That  was  one  thing.  Then  about  my 
not  being  an  heiress.  I  suddenly  found  a  great  dislike  in 
myself  to  speak  to  him  on  the  subject.  There  was  no 
doubt  that  it  would  be  right  to  tell  him  what  I  had 
thought  to  tell  him ;  wrong  not  to  do  it ;  the  right  and 
the  wrong  were  settled ;  my  willingness  was  not.  A 
little  inner  consciousness  that  Mr.  Thorold  would  relish 
any  handling  of  the  matter  that  savoured  of  the  practical, 
and  would  improve  it  for  his  own  ends,  made  my  cheek 
hot.  Yet  I  must  tell  him.  The  thing  stood,  with  only  an 
addition  of  disagreeableness.  And  what  chance  should  I 
have,  in  the  street  ? 

I  meditated  a  good  while,  before  there  suddenly  started 
into  my  mind  a  third  subject  upon  which  I  had  meant  to 
take  action  with  Mr.  Thorold.  I  had  thought  to  qualify 


52  DAISY. 

a  little  the  liberty  he  had  assumed  upon  our  first  be 
trothal  ;  to  keep  at  a  somewhat  more  reserved  distance, 
and  make  him.  Could  I  ?  Was  Mr.  Thorold  under  my 
management?  He  seemed  to  take  me  under  his.  I  pon 
dered,  but  between  laughing  and  rebellion  I  could  make 
nothing  of  the  subject.  Only,  I  resolved,  if  circumstances 
gave  me  any  chance,  to  act  on  my  proposed  system. 

The  next  day  was  swallowed  up  in  like  thoughts.  I 
tried  to  arrange  my  subjects  and  fix  upon  one  to  begin 
with ;  but  it  was  a  vain  effort.  I  knew  that  as  soon  as  I 
began  to  get  ready  for  my  walk.  Things  must  come  as 
they  would.  And  my  cross  tides  of  purpose  resolved 
themselves  into  one  long  swell  of  joy,  when  I  discerned 
the  figure  I  was  looking  for,  waiting  for  me  on  Pennsyl 
vania  avenue ;  too  soon,  for  it  was  near  the  place  where 
we  parted  the  night  before. 

'  This  is  very  dangerous — '  I  said,  as  we  began  to  stroll 
up  the  avenue. 

'  What  ?'  said  Mr.  Thorold,  looking  down  at  me  with 
his  eyes  as  full  of  mischief  as  ever. 

'  It  is  so  light  yet,  and  you  come  so  near  the  house.' 

'  You  walk  with  other  people,  don't  you  ?' 

<I  am  not  afraid  of  the  other  people.' 

'Are  you  afraid  of  me?'  said  he  smiling;  and  then 
growing  grave,  '  We  may  have  only  a  few  times,  Daisy ; 
let  us  make  the  most  of  them.' 

How  could  I  start  anything  after  that.  I  was  mute ; 
and  Mr.  Thorold  began  upon  a  new  theme. 

1  Daisy,  how  long  have  you  been  in  Washington  ?' 

'  Christian,  I  could  not  let  you  know.  I  was  always 
hoping  to  see  you  somewhere.' 

'Sounds  as  if  you  felt  guilty,'  he  said.  'Confess, 
Daisy ;  you  look  as  if  you  were  afraid  I  would  be  angry. 
I  will  not  be  very  hard  with  you.' 

I  was  afraid;  and  he  was  angry,  when  I  told  him. 


ON  FOOT.  53 

face  flushed  and  his  eye  changed,  and  turned  away 
from  me. 

'Christian/  I  said,  'I  was  very  unwilling  that  Dr. 
Sanriford  should  know  anything  about  it ;  that  was  my 
reason.  If  I  had  written  to  you,  you  know  you  would 
have  come  straight  to  where  I  was ;  and  the  risk  was  too 
great/ 

'Whatfisk?'  he  said.  'I  might  have  been  ordered 
away  from  Washington ;  and  then  we  might  never  have 
met/ 

'  Are  you  vexed  ?'  I  said  gently. 

'You  have  wronged  me,  Daisy.' 

It  gave  me,  I  do  not  know  whether  more  pain  or  plea 
sure,  the  serious  grave  displeasure  his  manner  testified. 
Neither  pain  nor  pleasure  was  very  easy  to  express ;  but 
pain  pressed  the  hardest. 

'  I  have  been  looking  for  the  chance  of  seeing  you ; 
looking  the  whole  time/  I  said.  'Everywhere,  it  was 
the  one  thing  I  was  intent  upon/ 

'  Daisy,  it  might  have  been  lost  altogether.  And  how 
many  days  have  been  lost !' 

I  was  silent  now ;  and  we  walked  some  steps  together 
without  anything  more.  But  the  next  words  were  with 
a  return  to  his  usual  clear  voice. 

'Daisy,  you  must  not  be  afraid  of  anything/ 

'  How  can  I  help  it  ?'  I  asked. 

'  Help  it  ? — but  have  I  brought  those  tears  into  your 
eyes  ?' 

It  was  almost  worth  while  to  have  offended  him,  to 
hear  the  tone  of  those  words.  I  could  not  speak. 

'I  see  you  are  not  very  angry  with  me/  he  said; 
'  but  I  am  with  myself.  Daisy,  my  Daisy,  you  must  not 
be  so  fearful  of  unknown  dangers/ 

'  I  think  I  have  been  fearful  of  them  all  my  life/  I 
answered.  '  Perhaps  it  is  my  fault/ 

6* 


54  DAISY. 

And  with  unspeakable  joy  I  recognized  the  truth,  that 
at  last  my  life  was  anchored  to  one  from  whom  I  need 
neither  fear  nor  disguise  anything. 

'  To  fear  them  is  often  to  bring  them.'  he  added. 

'I  do  not  think  it  will,  in  my  case,'  I  said.  'But,  if 
Dr.  Sandford  had  known  you  were  coming  to  see  me,  he 
might  have  carried  me  off  from  Washington,  just  as  he 
did  from  West  Point  last  year.' 

'  From  West  Point  ?'  said  Mr.  Thorold,  his  eyes  mak 
ing  a  brilliant  commentary  on  my  words ; — '  Did  he 
carry  you  away  from  West  Point  for  any  such  reason  ? 
Is  he  afraid  of  me  ?' 

'  He  would  be  afraid  of  anybody,'  I  said  in  some  con 
fusion,  for  Mr.  Thorold' s  eyes  were  dancing  with  mis 
chief  and  pleasure ; — '  I  do  not  know — of  course  I  do  not 
know  what  he  was  afraid  of;  but  I  know  how  it  would 
be.' 

Mr.  Thorold' s  answer  was  to  take  my  hand  and  softly 
draw  it  through  his  own  arm.  I  did  not  like  it ;.  I  was  fear 
ful  of  being  seen  to  walk  so  ;  yet  the  assuming  of  me  was 
done  in  a  manner  that  I  could  not  resist  nor  contravene. 
I  knew  how  Christian's  eyes  fell  upon  me ;  I  dared  no{ 
meet  them. 

'  Is  the  doctor  jealous  of  you,  Daisy  ?'  he  whispered 
laughing.  I  did  not  find  an  answer  immediately. 

'Does  he  dare?  Mr.  Thorold  said  in  a  different 
tone. 

'No,  no.     Christian,  how  imperious  you  are!' 

'  Yes,'  he  said ;  '  I  will  be  so  where  you  are  concerned. 
What  do  you  mean,  Daisy?  or  what  does  he  mean?' 

'  He  is  my  guardian,  you  know,'  I  said ;  '  and  he  has 
sharp  eyes ;  and  he  is  careful  of  me.' 

'  Very  careful  ?'  said  Mr.  Thorold,  laughing  and  press 
ing  my  arm.  '  Daisy,  I  am  your  guardian  while  you  are 
in  Washington.  I  wish  I  had  a  right  to  say  that  you 


ON  FOOT.  55 

shall  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  Dr.  Sandford.  But 
for  the  present  I  must  mind  my  duty.' 

*  And  I  mine/ — I  added  with  my  heart  beating.  Now 
it  seemed  a  good  opening  for  some  of  the  things  I  had  to 
say ;  yet  my  heart  beat  and  I  was  silent, 

'Yours,  Daisy?'  he  said  very  tenderly.  'What  is 
yours?  What  present  pressure  of  conscience  is  giving 
you  something  hard  to  do?  I  know  it  will  be  done! 
What  work  is  this  little  soldier  on  ?' 

I  could  not  tell  him,  I  could  not  My  answer 
diverged. 

'  What  are  you  on,  Christian  ?' 

'The  same  thing.  Kather  preparing  for  work — pre 
paring  others.  I  am  at  that  all  day.' 

'  And  do  you  expect  there  will  be  real  work,  as  you 
call  it?  Will  it  come  to  that?' 

'  Looks  like  it.  What  do  you  think  of  Fairfax  Court 
house  ? — and  Great  Bethel  ? — and  Falling  Waters,  And 
so  on  ?' 

'That  was  bad,  at  Great  Bethel,'  I  said. 

'Mismanagement — '  said  Mr.  Thorold  calmly. 

'And  at  Vienna.' 

'No,  the  troops  behaved  well.  They  behaved  well, 
Daisy.  I  am  content  with  that' 

'Do  you  think — don't  be  angry,  Christian ! — do  you 
think  the  people  of  the  North  generally  will  make  as 
fiery  fighting  men  as  the  people  of  the  South,  who  are 
used  to  fighting,  and  commanding,  and  the  practice  of 
arms?' 

'  When  you  get  a  quiet  man  angry,  Daisy,  he  is  the 
very  worst  man  to  deal  with  that  you  ever  saw.' 

'But  the  people  of  the  North  are  all  accustomed  to 
peaceful  employments?' 

Mr.  Thorold  laughed,  looking  down  at  me  with  infinite 
amusement  and  tenderness  mixed. 


56  DAISY. 

'I  see  what  your  training  has  been,'  he  said.  *  What 
will  you  do  when  you  have  one  of  those  quiet  people  for 
your  husband?' 

'Quiet!'  said  I.  'When  your  eyes  are  showering 
sparks  of  fire  all  over  me!' 

'Daisy,'  he  said,  'those  rose  leaves  in  your  cheeks  are 
the  very  prettiest  bits  of  colour  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.' 

'But  we  are  wandering  from  the  subject,'  I  said. 

'No,  we  are  not,'  he  said  decidedly.  'You  are  my  one 
subject  at  all  times.' 

'Not  when  you  are  training  soldiers?'  I  said  half 
laughing.  But  he  gave  me  a  look  which  silenced  me. 
And  it  nearly  took  away  all  the  courage  I  had,  for  every 
thing  I  wanted  to  say  to  him  and  had  found  it  so  difficult 
to  say. 

'Christian,'  I  began  again  after  an  interval,  'were  the 
troops  that  were  sent  over  into  Virginia  just  now,  sent, 
do  you  suppose,  to  meet  Beauregard?' 

'I  suppose  so.' 

'You  are  not  going?' — I  asked  because  the  question 
was  torturing  me. 

He  looked  down  at  me  again,  a  steady,  fixed,  inquiring 
look,  that  grew  very  full  of  affection  before  he  answered, 

'I  hope  so,  Daisy.' 

'You  are  not  ordered!' 

'No;  not  yet.' 

'  But  if  you  were  to  go,  would  you  not  know  it  by  this 
time?' 

'  Not  certainly.  Some  troops  will  be  left  here  of  course, 
to  guard  Washington.' 

I  walked  with  my  heart  in  my  mouth.  I  knew,  what 
he  did  not  say,  that  orders  might  be  issued  suddenly  and 
as  suddenly  obeyed;  with  no  beforehand  warning  or 
after  delay.  How  could  I  speak  anything  of  what  had 
been  in  my  mind  to  be  said?  Yet  the  very  circumstances 


ON  FOOT.  07 

which  made  it  more  difficult  made  it  also  imperative,  to 
speak  them.  I  fought  myself,  while  Mr.  Thorold  some 
times  watched  me  and  constantly  took  care  of  me,  with  a 
thoughtful  care  in  little  things  which  was  eloquent. 

'  Christian'  —  I  began,  feeling  my  voice  changed. 

'That  is  to  tell  me  we  must  turn  homeward?'  he  said 


'No;  I  want  to  speak  to  you.  But  we  must  turn 
homeward  too/ 

'  To  speak  to  me?  In  that  voice?  Look  at  me,  Daisy. 
—  No,  I  won't  hear  it  now,  and  not  here.  We  must 
have  something  better.  Daisy,  go  and  ride  with  me  to 
morrow  evening!' 

'01  cannot.' 

'  Yes,  Daisy.  I  ask  it  of  you.  Dr.  Sandford  is  in 
bed.  He  cannot  go  along.  Then  you  can  tell  me  all 
that  is  on  your  mind  about  Northern  soldiers.' 

'  O  I  only  thought  Christian  —  You  know,  I  know  the 
temper  of  the  Southern  people.' 

'  You  will  know  the  temper  of  the  either  section  of  the 
country  some  day,'  he  said  with  a  smile  at  me  which  was 
half  serious  and  half  personal  in  its  bearing.  But  he 
made  me  promise  to  go  and  ride  with  him  if  I  could  ;  and 
so  left  me. 

I  met  Mrs.  Sandford  as  I  went  into  the  house.  She 
said  she  was  glad  I  kept  up  my  walks  ;  she  was  sorry  I 
had  such  a  terribly  dull  time;  it  was  a  pity  I  came  to 
Washington.  Dr.  Sandford  was  no  better,  and  much 
worried  about  me,  that  I  should  be  so  cut  off  from  amuse 
ment. 

'  Tell  him  I  am  doing  very  well,  and  having  time  to 
read  the  papers,'  I  said. 

'Those  horrid  papers!'  said  Mrs.  Sandford.  'They 
make  my  hair  stand  on  end.  I  wouldn't  read  them, 
Daisy.' 


58  DAISY. 

'But  you  do.' 

'  Well  I  cannot  keep  my  hands  off  them  when  I  see 
them ;  but  I  wish  I  was  where  I  could  never  see  them. 
Ever  since  I  read  Gen.  Beauregard's  proclamation,  I  have 
been  in  a  fury  with  everything  South ;  and  it  is  uncom 
fortable  to  be  in  a  fury.  O  dear !  I  wish  Grant  would 
get  well  and  take  us  away.  Come  in  and  let  us  have  a 
cup  of  tea,  dear.  Isn't  it  hot?' 

I  took  the  tea  and  bore  the  talk,  till  both  were  done 
and  I  could  shut  myself  into  the  seclusion  of  my  own 
room.  And  tears  did  not  come  to-night,  but  dry  heart- 
aching  pain  instead ;  with  which  I  struggled  till  the  night 
had  worn  far  on.  Struggled,  trying  to  reason  it  away  and 
to  calm  it  down  by  faith  and  prayer.  Ah  me !  how  little 
reason  could  do,  or  faith  either.  For  reason  only  affirmed 
and  enlarged  my  fears;  and  faith  had  no  power  to  say 
they  might  not  come  true.  The  promise,  "He  shall  not 
be  afraid  of  evil  tidings,"  belongs  to  those  who  have  their 
w\M  so  merged  in  God's  will  as  not  to  be  careful  what  that 
will  may  be.  I  had  not  got  so  far.  A  new  lesson  was 
set  me  in  my  experience  book ;  even  to  lay  my  will  down ; 
and  nobody  who  has  not  learned  or  tried  to  learn  that 
lesson  knows  how  mortal  hard  it  is.  It  seemed  to  me  my 
heart  was  breaking  the  whole  livelong  night. 


CHAPTEK    V. 

ON     HORSEBACK. 

A  LITTLE  sleep  and  the  fresh  morning  light  set  me  up 
again.  I  was  to  ride  with  Mr.  Thorold  in  the  evening ; 
my  mind  fixed  on  that  nearest  point,  and  refused  for  the 
moment  to  go  further.  I  heard  from  Mrs.  Sandford  at 
breakfast  that  Dr.  Sandford  was  no  better ;  his  low  ner 
vous  prostration  continued  and  threatened  to  continue. 
Mrs.  Sandford  was  much  troubled  about  me.  All  this 
suited  my  convenience;  even  her  unnecessary  concern; 
for  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  tell  Mrs.  Sandford  I  was 
going  to  ride;  but  I  would  not  till  our  late  dinner,  that 
there  might  be  no  chance  of  her  consulting  the  doctor. 
At  dinner  I  mentioned  that  a  friend  had  asked  me  to 
ride  and  I  had  half  consented.  Mrs.'  Sandford  looked 
somewhat  startled  and  asked  who  the  friend  might  be? 

'Another  officer,'  I  said  quietly;  'his  name  is  Thorold. 
I  saw  him  last  summer,  Mrs.  Sandford;  and  I  know 
about  him.  He  is  a  good  one  to  go  with.' 

'I  can't  ask  Grant  anything,'  she  said,  looking  doubt 
ful.  'He  knows  everybody.' 

'It  is  not  needful,'  I  answered.  'I  am  going  to  take 
the  indulgence  this  once.  I  think  it  will  do  me  good/ 

'Daisy,  my  dear!'  said  Mrs.  Sandford — 'You  are  as 
good  as  possible — but  you  have  a  will  of  your  own.  All 
you  Southerners  have,  I  think.' 

I  replied  that  I  was  a  Northerner ;  and  the  talk  went 
to  other  things.  Mrs.  Sandford  left  me  with  a  kiss  and 

59 


60  DAISY. 

the  injunction  to  take  care  of  myself.  I  was  very  glad 
to  get  off  so,  for  she  looked  a  little  unsatisfied.  My  way 
was  clear  now.  I  dressed  with  a  bounding  heart,  mounted, 
and  was  away  with  Mr.  Thorold ;  feeling  beneath  all  my 
gladness  that  now  was  my  time  and  my  only  time  for 
doing  all  the  difficult  work  I  had  set  myself.  But  glad 
ness  was  uppermost,  as  I  found  myself  in  the  saddle  and 
away,  with  Mr.  Thorold  by  my  side ;  for  once  free  and 
alone  together ;  gladness  that  kept  us  both  still  I  think ; 
for  we  exchanged  few  words  till  we  were  clear  of  the  city 
and  out  upon  the  open  country.  There  we  slackened 
bridle,  and  I  began  to  feel  that  the  minutes  were  exceed 
ingly  precious.  I  dreaded  lest  some  words  of  Christian's 
should  make  it  impossible  for  me  to  do  what  I  had  to  do. 

'Christian,'  I  began,  'I  have  things  to  talk  to  you 
about.' 

'Well,'  said  he  brightly,  'you  shall.  Will  it  take  a 
great  while,  Daisy?  Because  I  have  things  to  talk  to 
you  about.' 

'Not  a  great  while,  I  hope,'  I  said,  almost  stammer 
ing. 

'You  shall  talk  what  you  will,  darling.  But  wait  till 
we  get  a  better  place.' 

I  would  have  liked  the  place  where  we  were,  and  the 
time.  Better  where  the  road  was  rough  than  where  it 
was  smooth ;  easier  where  there  was  something  to  make 
interruption  than  where  Christian  could  give  too  exclu 
sive  heed  to  me.  But  I  could  not  gainsay  him ;  and  we 
rode  on,  till  we  came  to  a  piece  of  pretty  broken  ground 
with  green  turf  and  trees.  Here  Mr.  Thorold  stopped 
and  proposed  that  we  should  dismount;  he  said  we  should 
talk  more  at  our  ease  so.  I  thought  my  predetermined 
measures  of  dignity  could  be  more  easily  maintained  on 
horseback;  but  I  could  not  bear  to  refuse  him,  and  he 
did  not  mean  to  be  refused,  I  saw.  He  had  dismounted 


ON  HORSEBACK.  61 

even  while  he  spoke,  and  throwing  his  horse's  bridle  over 
the  branch  of  a  tree,  came  to  lift  me  down ;  first  throw 
ing  his  cap  on  the  grass.  Then  keeping  me  in  his  arms 
and  bending  a  brilliant  inquisitive  look  on  my  face,  he 
asked  me, 

'Daisy — is  this  my  Daisy,  as  I  left  her?' 

I  could  not  help  answering  a  plain  yes.  Nothing  in 
me  was  changed ;  and  come  what  might,  that  was  true. 
No  other  answer  would  have  been  true.  And  I  could 
not  blame  him  that  he  held  me  fast  and  kissed  me,  al 
most  as  he  had  done  that  first  time.  Almost;  but  the 
kisses  were  more  grave  and  deliberate  now;  every  one 
seemed  a  seal  and  a  taking  possession.  Indeed  the  whole 
manner  of  Mr.  Thorold  had  taken  gravity  and  manliness 
and  purpose;  he  was  changed,  as  it  would  have  taken 
much  longer  in  other  circumstances  to  change  a  man. 
I  stood  still  and  trembled,  I  believe;  but  I  could  no 
more  check  him  than  I  could  that  first  night. 

Still  holding  me  fast,  he  lifted  my  face  a  little  and 
smiling  asked  me,  what  Daisy  had  to  say  to  him?  The 
tone,  tender  and  happy,  was  as  much  as  I  could  bear; 
more  than  I  could  answer.  He  led  me  a  little  way,  ar 
ranged  a  seat  for  me  on  a  green  bank,  and  threw  himself 
down  by  my  side.  But  that  was  very  inconvenient,  for 
he  could  look  up  right  into  my  face. 

'Business,  Daisy?'  he  said  gayly  and  tenderly  at  once. 
The  tone  seemed  to  touch  the  colour  in  my  cheeks  and 
the  droop  of  my  eyes. 

'Yes,'  I  said.     'It  is  business.' 

'Well  what,  love?' 

'Christian,'  said  I,  putting  my  hand  in  his,  'you  know 
papa  and  mamma  do  not  know  of  this.' 

'They  shall  know,  as  soon  as  I  can  write  to  them,'  he 
answered.  '  I  understand — you  do  not  wish  that,  Daisy ; 
but  see — I  cannot  leave  it  unsaid,  as  long  as  your  thought 

VOL.  II. — 6 


62  DAISY. 

would  leave  it.  Till  they  know,  I  have  only  half  a 
right  to  you.  I  cannot  live  so/ 

'You  must,'  I  whispered, — 'till  this  war  is  over.' 

'What  then?'  said  he  quickly.  'How  will  that  help 
the  matter?' 

'Then  they  may  see  you  for  themselves.  A  letter 
would  not  do.' 

'If  you  please,  how  do  you  expect  I  am  to  live  till 
then?'  he  said  smiling.  'With  half  a  right  to  you.' 

'Yes — with  that, — and  without  writing  to  me,'  I  an 
swered. 

'Daisy!'  exclaimed  Thorold,  raising  himself  half  up. 

'Yes,'  I  said — 'I  know — I  have  been  wanting  to  talk 
to  you  about  it.  You  know,  Christian,  I  could  not  write 
nor  receive  your  letters  without  my  father's  and  mother's 
permission.' 

'  Can  you  bear  that,  Daisy  ?'  he  asked. 

My  heart  seemed  to  turn  sick.  His  words  suggested 
nothing  new,  but  they  were  his  words.  I  failed  to  an 
swer,  and  my  face  went  down  in  my  hands. 

'There  is  no  need  of  that,  darling,'  he  said,  getting  one 
of  them  and  putting  it  to  his  lips.  'Here  you  are  fear 
ing  dangers  again.  Daisy — with  truth  on  your  side  and 
on  mine,  nothing  can  separate  us  permanently.' 

'But  for  the  present,' — I  said  as  soon  as  I  could  speak. 
'I  am  sure  our  chance  for  the  future  is  better  if  we  are 
patient  and  wait  now.' 

'Patient,  and  wait?'  said  Mr.  Thorold.  'If  we  are 
patient  now?  What  do  you  mean  by  patience?  You  in 
Switzerland,  with  half  a  hundred  suitors  by  turns;  and 
I  here  in  the  smoke  of  artillery  practice,  unable  to  see 
twenty  yards  from  my  drill — and  that,  you  think,  does 
not  call  for  patience,  but  you  must  cut  off  the  post-office 
from  our  national  institutions.  And  to  wait  for  you  is 
not  enough,  but  I  must  wait  for  news  of  you  as  well!' 


ON  HORSEBACK.  63 

'Christian!'  said  I  in  desperation — 'it  is  harder  for 
me  than  for  you.' 

He  laughed  at  that;  laughed  and  looked  at  me,  and 
his  eyes  sparkled  like  a  shower  of  fireworks,  and  then  I 
was  sure  that  a  mist  was  gathering  in  them.  I  could 
scarcely  bear  the  one  thing  and  the  other.  My  own  com 
posure  failed.  He  did  not  this  time  answer  by  caresses. 
He  got  up  and  paced  the  turf  a  little  distance  below  me ; 
his  arms  folded,  his  lips  set,  and  the  steps  never  slacken 
ing.  So  he  was  when  I  could  look  up  and  see.  This  was 
worse  than  anything.  And  the  sun  was  lowering  fast, 
and  we  had  settled  nothing,  and  our  time  was  going.  I 
waited  a  minute,  and  then  I  called  him.  He  came  and 
stood  before  me,  face  and  attitude  unchanged. 

'Christian,'  I  said, — 'don't  you  see  that  it  is  best — my 
plan?' 

'No,' he  said. 

I  did  not  know  what  to  urge  next.  But  as  I  looked  at 
him,  his  lips  unbent  and  his  face  shone  down  at  me, 
after  a  sort,  with  love,  and  tenderness  and  pleasure.  I 
felt  I  had  not  prevailed  yet.  I  rose  up  and  stood  before 
him. 

'Indeed  it  is  best!'  I  said  earnestly. 

'What  do  you  fear,  Daisy?'  His  look  was  unchanged 
and  feared  nothing.  It  was  very  hard  to  tell  him  what 
I  feared. 

'I  think,  without  seeing  you  and  knowing  you,  they 
will  never  let  us  write ;  and  I  would  rather  they  did  not 
know  anything  about  the — about  us — till  you  can  see 
them.' 

He  took  both  my  hands  in  his,  and  I  felt  how  hard  it 
is  for  a  woman  to  move  a  man's  will  when  it  is  once  in 
earnest. 

'Daisy,  that  is  not  brave,'  he  said, 

'No — Jam  not,'  I  answered.     'But  is  it  not  prudent?' 


64  DAISY. 

'I  do  not  believe  in  cowardly  prudence,'  he  said;  but 
he  kissed  me  gently  to  soften  the  words;  'the  frank  way 
is  the  wisest,  always,  I  believe;  and  anyhow,  Daisy,  I 
can't  stand  any  other.  I  am  going  to  ask  you  of  your 
father  and  mother;  and  I  am  going  to  do  it  without 
delay.' 

'I  wish  they  could  see  you,'  I  said  helplessly. 

'And  as  I  cannot  be  present  to  do  my  pleading  in 
person,  I  must  trust  you  to  plead  for  me.' 

'You  forget,'  said  I;  'it  is  against  you  that  you  are  a 
Northern  officer.' 

'That  may  depend  upon  the  event  of  the  war,'  he 
said ;  and  I  saw  a  sparkle  again.  Wilful  and  manly  as 
he  could  be;  but  he  did  not  know  my  father  and  mother. 
Yet  that  last  word  of  his  might  be  true;  what  if  it  were? 
The  end  of  the  war!  When  might  that  be?  and  how? 
If  all  the  Northern  army  were  Thorolds, — but  I  knew 
they  were  not.  I  felt  as  if  my  magazine  of  words  was 
exhausted.  I  suppose  then  my  face  spoke  for  me.  He 
loosened  his  hold  of  one  hand  to  put  his  arm  round  me 
and  draw  me  to  him,  with  a  fine  tenderness,  both  reverent 
and  masterful. 

'My  Daisy' — he  said, — 'what  do  you  want  of  me?' 

And  I  could  not  tell  him  then.  As  little  could  I  pre 
tend  to  be  dignified.  Pain  was  too  sharp.  We  drew 
very  close  to  each  other  and  were  very  silent  for  those 
minutes.  I  would  command  myself,  and  did,  hard  work 
as  it  was,  and  though  my  face  lay  on  his  shoulder.  I  do 
not  know  how  his  face  looked ;  when  he  spoke  again  the 
tone  was  of  the  gravest  tenderness. 

'What  do  you  want  of  me,  Daisy?' 

'I  think,  this,'  I  said,  raising  my  head  and  laying  my 
hand  on  his  shoulder  instead.  'Suppose,  Christian,  you 
leave  the  question  undecided — the  question  of  letters,  I 
mean, — until  I  get  there, — to  Switzerland, — and  see  my 


ON  HORSEBACK:.  65 

father  and  mother.  Perhaps  I  can  judge  then  what  will 
be  safe  to  do ;  and  if  I  can  write,  you  know  I  will  write 
immediately.' 

'And  if  you  cannot?' 

'Then — I  will  write  once,  to  let  you  know  how  it  is.' 

He  stood  still,  reading  my  face,  until  it  was  a  little 
hard  to  bear,  and  my  eyes  went  down. 

'Suppose  your  father  and  mother — suppose  they  are 
obdurate,  Daisy,  and  will  not  have  me,  being  a  Northern 
man  and  in  the  Government  service?' 

What  then?  I  could  not  say. 

'Suppose  it,  Daisy.' 

'Well,  Christian?'     I  said,  raising  my  eyes  to  his  face. 

'What  will  you  do?' 

'You  know,  Christian,  I  must  obey  my  father  and 
mother.' 

'Even  as  I  my  other  duty.  Well,  we  are  both  soldiers. 
But  what  would  you  do,  Daisy  ?' 

'Do?—'  I  repeated. 

'Yes,'  he  said  very  gravely  and  with  a  certain  deter 
mination  to  have  the  answer. 

'I  should  do  nothing,  Christian.  I  should  be  just  the 
same.'  But  I  believe  my  cheeks  must  have  answered 
for  me,  for  I  felt  them  grow  pale. 

'  What  if  they  chose  a  Southern  husband  for  you,  and 
laid  their  commands  in  his  favour?' 

'  I  am  yours — '  I  said  looking  up  at  him.  I  could  not 
say  any  more,  but  I  believe  Mr.  Thorold  understood  it 
all,  just  what  I  meant  him  to  understand;  how  that  bond 
could  never  be  unloosed,  what  though  the  seal  of  it  might 
be  withheld.  He  was  satisfied. 

'  You  are  not  brave,  Daisy,'  he  said  holding  me  again 
very  close;  'here  are  these  cheeks  fairly  grown  white 
under  my  supposings.  Does  that  bring  the  colour  back?' 
he  added  laughing. 


66  DAISY. 

'  Christian,'  I  said,  seizing  my  time  while  my  face  was 
half  hidden,  'what  would  you  do,  supposing  I  should 
prove  to  be  a  very  poor  girl  ?' 

'What  is  that?'  said  he  laughing  more  gayly,  and 
raising  my  face  a  little. 

'  You  know  what  our  property  is.' 

'No,  I  do  not.' 

'You  know — I  mean,  you  know,  my  father's  and 
mother's  property  is  in  Southern  lands  mostly,  and  in 
those  that  cultivate  them.' 

'  Yes.     I  believe  I  have  understood  that.' 

'  Well,  I  will  never  be  the  owner  of  those  people — the 
people  that  cultivate  those  lands ;  and  so  I  suppose  I 
shall  not  be  worth  a  sixpence ;  for  the  land  is  not  much 
without  the  people.' 

'  You  will  not  be  the  owner  of  them  ?' 

'No.' 

'  Why  do  you  tell  me  that  ?'  said  Mr.  Thorold  gra,vely. 

'  I  wanted  you  to  know — '  I  said,  hesitating  and  be 
ginning  very  much  to  wish  my  words  unsaid. 

'  And  the  question  is,  what  I  will  do  in  the  supposed 
circumstances  ?  Was  that  it  ?' 

'I  said  that,' — I  assented. 

'What  shall  I  do?'  said  Mr.  Thorold.  'I  don't 
know.  If  I  am  in  camp,  I  will  pitch  a  tent  for  my 
wife ;  it  shall  have  soft  carpets  and  damask  cushions ; 
as  many  servants  as  she  likes,  and  one  in  especial  who 
will  take  care  that  the  others  do  her  bidding ;  scanty  ac 
commodations,  perhaps,  but  the  air  full  of  welcome.  She 
will  like  it.  If  I  am  stationed  in  town  somewhere,  I  will 
fill  her  house  with  things  to  please  her.  If  I  am  at  the 
old  farm,  I  will  make  her  confess,  in  a  little  while,  that 
it  is  the  pleasantest  place  she  ever  saw  in  her  life.  I 
don't  know  what  I  will  do!  I  will  do  something  to 
make  her  ashamed  she  ever  asked  me  such  a  question.' 


ON  HORSEBACK.  67 

*O  don't!'  said  I,  with  my  cheeks  burning.  'I  am 
very  much  ashamed  now/ 

'Do  you  acknowledge  that?'  he  said>  laughing  and 
taking  his  revenge.  'So  you  ought.' 

But  then  he  made  me  sit  down  on  the  grass  again  and 
threw  himself  at  my  feet,  and  began  to  talk  of  other 
things.  He  would  not  let  me  go  back  to  the  former 
subjects.  He  kept  me  in  a  state  of  amusement,  making 
me  talk  too  about  what  he  would ;  and  with  the  light  of 
that  last  subject  I  had  unluckily  started,  shining  all  over 
his  face  and  sparkling  in  his  eye  and  smile,  until  my 
face  was  in  a  condition  of  permanent  colour.  I  had 
given  him  an  advantage,  and  he  took  it  and  played  with 
it.  I  resolved  I  would  never  give  him  another.  He  had 
gone  back  apparently  to  the  mood  of  that  evening  at  Miss 
Cardigan's ;  and  was  full  of  life  and  spirits  and  mischief. 
I  could  do  nothing  but  fall  in  with  his  mood  and  be 
happy ;  although  I  remembered  I  had  not  gained  my 
point  yet ;  and  I  half  suspected  he  had  a  mind  I  should 
not  gain  it.  It  was  a  very  bright,  short  half  hour ;  and 
then  I  reminded  him  it  was  growing  late. 

'  Moonlight — '  he  said.  '  There  is  a  good  large  moon, 
Daisy.' 

'But  Mrs.  Sandford— '  I  said. 

'  She  knows  you  are  your  own  mistress/ 

'She  thinks  I  am,'  I  said.     'You  know  better/ 

'You  are  mine,'  said  Mr.  Thorold,  with  gentle  gravity 
immediately.  'You  shall  command  me.  Do  you  say 
go,  Daisy?' 

'  May  I  influence  you  in  something  else  ?'  I  said  put 
ting  my  hand  in  his  to  enforce  my  words. 

'  Eh  ?'  said  he,  clasping  the  hand.     '  What,  Daisy  ?' 

'  Christian,  I  want  you  not  to  write  to  my  father  and 
mother  until  I  give  you  leave.'  I  thought  I  would  let 
go  arguing  and  try  persuasion. 


68  DAISY. 

He  looked  away,  and  then  looked  at  me ;  a  look  full 
of  affection,  but  I  saw  I  had  not  moved  him. 

'  I  do  not  see  how  we  can  settle  that,  Daisy.' 

'  But  you  said — you  said — ' 

'  What  r 

'You  said  just  now,  you  intimated,  that  my  wishes 
would  have  weight  with  you/ 

He  laughed  a  little,  a  moved  laugh,  and  kissed  me. 
But  it  was  not  a  kiss  which  carried  any  compromise. 

'Weight  with  me?  Yes,  a  little.  But  with  me, 
Daisy.  They  must  not  change  me  into  somebody  not 
myself.' 

'Would  that?—' 

'  If  I  could  be  content  to  have  your  faith  in  secret,  or 
to  wait  to  know  if  I  might  have  it  at  all  ?  I  must  be 
somebody  not  myself,  Daisy.' 

I  pondered  and  felt  very  grave.  Was  it  true,  that 
Mr.  Thorold,  though  no  Christian,  was  following  a  rule 
of  action  more  noble  and  good  than  I,  who  made  such 
professions?  It  was  noble,  I  felt  that.  Had  my  wish 
been  cowardly  and  political  ?  Must  not  open  truth  be 
the  best  way  always  ?  Yet  with  my  father  and  mother 
old  experience  had  long  ago  taught  me  to  hold  my  tongue 
and  not  speak  till  the  time  came.  Which  was  right  ?  I 
felt  that  his  rule  of  action  crossed  all  my  inner  nature,  if 
it  were  not  indeed  the  habit  which  had  become  second 
nature.  Mr.  Thorold  watched  me. 

'What  is  it,  Daisy? — my  Daisy?'  he  asked  with  a 
tender  inquisitiveness,  though  looking  amused  at  me. 

'  I  was  thinking — '  I  answered, — '  whether  you  are  a 
great  deal  better  than  I  am.' 

'Think  it  by  all  means,'  he  said  laughing.  'I  am 
certainly  a  good  deal  braver.  But  what  else,  Daisy? 
there  was  something  else.' 

'  That,'  said  I.     '  I  was  thinking  of  my  habit,  all  my 


ON  HORSEBACK.  69 

life  long,  of  keeping  things  back  from  my  father  and 
mother  till  I  thought  it  was  safe  to  shew  them.' 

'  Are  you  going  to  let  that  habit  live  ?  What  lessons 
you  will  have  to  learn,  my  little  Daisy !  I  could  never 
bear  to  have  my  wife  afraid  of  me.' 

'Of  you!'  I  said.  'I  never  should.' — But  there  I 
stopped  in  some  confusion,  which  I  knew  my  neighbour 
enjoyed.  I  broke  up  the  enjoyment  by  standing  up  and 
declaring  that  it  was  now  time  to  go. 

We  had  a  pretty  ride  home.  My  mind  was  disbur- 
thened  of  its  various  subjects  of  care  which  I  had  had  to 
communicate  to  Mr.  Thorold ;  and  although  I  had  not 
been  able  entirely  to  prevail  with  him,  yet  I  had  done 
all  I  could,  and  my  conscience  was  clear.  I  let  myself 
enjoy,  and  the  ride  was  good.  Mr.  Thorold  said  we  must 
have  another ;  but  I  did  not  believe  that  feasible. 

However,  it  fell  out  so.  Dr.  Sandford  lingered  on  in 
the  same  disabled  state ;  his  sister-in-law  was  devoted  to 
her  attendance  on  him ;  I  was  left  to  myself.  And  it  did 
come  to  pass,  that  not  only  Mr.  Thorold  and  I  had  walks 
continually  together;  but  also  we  had  one  more  good 
ride.  1  did  not  try  moving  him  again  on  the  point  of 
my  father  and  mother.  I  had  read  my  man  and  knew 
that  I  could  not.  And  I  suppose  I  liked  him  the  better 
for  it.  Weakness  is  the  last  thing,  I  think,  that  a  woman 
forgives  in  men,  who  ought  to  be  strong.  Christian  was 
not  weak ;  all  the  more  he  was  gentle  and  tender  and 
thoughtful  for  those  who  were.  Certainly  for  me.  Those 
days,  those  walks, — what  music  of  thought  and  manner 
there  was  in  them!  The  sort  of  protecting  care  and 
affection  I  had  from  him  then,  I  never  had  from  any 
other  at  any  time.  Care  that  seemed  to  make  my  life 
his  own ;  affection  that  made  it  something  much  before 
his  own  ;  but  all  this  told,  not  in  words,  which  could  not 
have  been,  but  in  indescribable  little  things  of  manner 


70  DAISY. 

and  tone ;  graces  too  fine  to  count  and  measure.  Once  I 
had  fancied  I  ought  to  put  more  reserve  into  my  manner, 
or  manage  more  distance  in  his ;  that  thought  fled  from 
me  after  the  first  afternoon's  ride  and  never  came  back. 
I  did  not  take  care  for  myself;  he  took  care  for  me. 
The  affection  that  held  me  as  a  part  of  himself,  held*  me 
also  as  a  delicate  charge  more  precious  than  himself; 
and  while  he  protected  me  as  one  who  had  a  right  to  do 
it,  he  guarded  me  also  as  one  whose  own  rights  were  more 
valuable  than  his.  He  never  flattered,  nor  praised,  nor 
complimented  me;  or  with  rare  exceptions;  but  he 
shewed  me  that  he  lived  for  me,  and  sometimes  that  he 
knew  I  lived  for  him. 

What  days  and  walks !  The  extreme  and  impending 
gravity  of  the  time  and  the  interests  at  work,  lent  only 
a  keen  and  keener  perception  of  their  preciousness  and 
sweetness.  Any  day  our  opportunities  might  suddenly 
come  to  an  end ;  every  day  they  were  welcomed  as  a 
special  fresh  gift.  Every  evening,  as  soon  as  Mr.  Thor- 
old's  engagements  allowed  it,  he  met  me  on  the  avenue, 
and  we  walked  until  the  evening  was  as  far  spent  as  we 
durst  spend  it  so.  I  basked  in  a  sunshine  of  care  and 
affection  which  surrounded  me,  which  watched  me,  which 
catered  to  my  pleasure,  and  knew  my  thoughts  before 
they  were  spoken.  We  were  both  grown  suddenly  older 
than  our  years,  Mr.  Thorold  and  I ;  the  coming  changes 
and  chances  in  our  lives  brought  us  to  life's  reality  at 
once. 

One  ride  besides  we  had ;  that  was  all.  Except  one 
other  experience ;  which  was  afterwards  precious  to  me 
beyond  price. 

As  it  became  known  that  Dr.  Sandford's  illness  was 
persistent  and  not  dangerous,  and  that  I  was  in  conse 
quence  leading  a  (supposed)  bitterly  dull  life ;  it  natu 
rally  happened  that  our  acquaintances  began  to  come 


ON  HORSEBACK.  71 

round  us  again ;  and  invitations  to  this  or  that  entertain 
ment  came  pouring  upon  me.  I  generally  refused ;  but 
once  thought  it  best,  as  a  blind  to  Mrs.  Sandford,  to  ac 
cept  an  invitation  to  ride.  Mrs.  Sandford  as  before 
demurred,  but  would  not  object. 

'  Who  is  it  this  time,  Daisy  ?'  she  asked. 

I  named  Major  Fairbairn ;  luckily  also  an  officer 
whom  I  had  known  the  last  summer  at  West  Point. 

'  Nothing  but  officers  F  she  remarked  in  a  dubious  tone. 
1  Not  much  else  to  be  had  here/ 

'And  nothing  much  better  anywhere/  I  said,  'when 
one  is  going  on  horseback.  They  know  how  to 
ride.' 

'All  Southerners  know  that.  By  the  way,  Daisy,  I 
have  heard  yesterday  of  Lieut.  Gary.  He  is  in  Beaure- 
gard's  army.' 

'  Are  you  sure  ?'  I  asked. 

'  Quite,  I  think.  I  was  told  by  Mr.  Lumpkin ;  and 
he  knows  all  the  Southern  doings,  and  people.' 

'  Then  he  ought  not  to  be  here.'  I  said.  '  He  may  let 
them  know  our  doings.' 

'Ours!'  said  Mrs.  Sandford.  'How  fierce  you  are. 
Is  Major  Fairbairn  South  or  North?  I  don't  remember.' 

'  From  Maine.' 

'  Well.  But  Daisy,  what  will  your  father  and  mother 
say  to  you  ?' 

There  was  no  use  in  considering  that  question.  I  dis 
missed  it,  and  got  ready  for  the  major  and  my  horse. 
Mounted,  my  companion  asked  me,  where  should  we  go  ? 
I  had  considered  that  point;  and  after  a  little  pause 
asked,  as  coolly  as  I  could,  where  there  were  any  troops 
drilling  in  cavalry  or  artillery  exercises.  Major  Fair 
bairn  pondered  a  minute  and  told  me,  with  rather  a 
rueful  countenance. 

'  Let  us  go  there  first,'  I  said.     '  It  is  an  old  story  to 


72  DAISY. 

you  ;  but  I  never  saw  such  a  thing.  I  want  to  see  it  and 
understand  it,  if  I  can/ 

'  Ladies  like  to  see  it,  I  know/  said  the  major. 

'  You  think  we  cannot  understand  it  ?' 

*  I  don't  see  how  you  should.' 

1 1  am  going  to  try,  Major  Fairbairn.  And  notwith 
standing  your  hopeless  tone,  I  expect  you  to  give  me 
all  the  help  you  can/ 

1 1  think,  the  less  you  understand  of  it,  the  better,' 
said  the  major. 

'Pray  why?' 

'Doesn't  seem  comfortable  knowledge,  for  those  who 
cannot  use  it.' 

'  Men  think  that  of  many  things,'  I  said.  '  And  they 
are  much  mistaken.  Knowledge  is  always  comfortable. 
I  mean,  it  is  comfortable  to  have  it,  rather  than  to  be 
ignorant.' 

'I  don't  know — '  said  the  major.  'Where  ignorance 
is  bliss — ' 

'  Ignorance  never  is  bliss  !'  I  said  energetically. 

'  Then  the  poet  must  be  wrong.' 

'Don't  you  think  poets  may  be  wrong  as  well  as  other 
people,  Major  Fairbairn?' 

'  I  hope  so !  or  I  should  wish  to  be  a  poet.  And  that 
would  be  a  vain  wish  for  me.' 

'But  in  these  war  matters,'  I  resumed  as  we  cantered 
on,  '  I  am  very  much  interested ;  and  I  think  all  women 
ought  to  be — must  be.' 

'Getting  to  be  serious  earnest — '  said  the  major,  re 
signedly. 

I  was  silenced  for  a  while.  The  words,  "serious 
earnest,"  rang  in  my  heart  as  we  went  through  the 
streets. 

'Is  it  getting  to  be  such  serious  earnest?'  I  asked  as 
lightly  as  I  could. 


ON  HORSEBACK.  73 

'We  sliall  know  more  about  it  soon/  the  major  an 
swered.  His  carelessness  was  real. 

*  How  soon?' 

'  May  be  any  day.  Beauregard  is  making  ready  for  us 
dt  Manassas  Junction.' 

'How  many  men  do  you  suppose  he  has?' 

'Can't  tell,' said  the  major.  'There  is  no  depending, 
I  think  myself,  on  any  accounts  we  have.  The  Southern 
people  generally  are  very  much  in  earnest.' 

'And  the  North  are,'  I  said. 

'It  is  just  a  question  of  who  will  hold  out  best.' 

I  thought  I  knew  who  those  would  be;  and  a  shiver 
for  a  moment  ran  through  my  heart.  Christian  had  said, 
that  the  success  of  his  suit  with  my  father  and  mother 
might  depend  on  how  the  war  went.  And  certainly,  if 
the  struggle  should  be  at  all  prolonged  and  issue  in  the 
triumph  of  the  rebels,  they  would  have  little  favour  for 
the  enemies  they  would  despise.  How  if  the  war  went 
for  the  North?— 

I  believe  I  lost  several  sentences  of  my  companion  in 
the  depth  of  my  musing ;  remembered  this  would  not  do ; 
shook  off  my  thoughts  and  talked  gayly,  until  we  came 
to  the  place  where  he  said  the  drilling  process  was  going 
on.  I  wondered  if  it  were  the  right  place ;  then  made 
sure  that  it  was ;  and  sat  on  my  horse  looking  and  wait 
ing,  with  my  heart  in  a  great  nutter.  The  artillery 
wagons  were  rushing  about;  I  recognized  them;  and  a 
cloud  of  dust  accompanied  and  swallowed  up  their  move 
ments,  a  little  too  distant  from  me  just  now  to  give  room 
for  close  observation. 

'Well,  how  do  you  like  it,  Miss  Randolph?'  my  major 
began,  with  a  tone  of  some  exultation  at  my  supposed 
discomfiture. 

'It  is  very  confused — '  I  said.  'I  do  not  see  what  they 
are  doing.' 

VOL.  II. — 7 


DAISY. 

'No,  more  than  you  could  if  it  was  a  battle,'  said  the 
major. 

'Won't  they  come  nearer  to  us?' 

'No  doubt  they  will,  if  we  give  them  time  enough.' 

I  would  not  take  this  hint.  I  had  got  my  chance ;  I 
was  not  going  to  fling  it  away.  I  had  discerned  besides 
in  the  distant  smoke  and  dust  a  dark  figure  on  a  gray 
horse,  which  I  thought  I  knew.  Nothing  would  have 
drawn  me  from  the  spot  then.  I  kept  up  a  scattering  fire 
of  talk  with  my  companion,  I  do  not  know  how,  to  pre 
vent  the  exhaustion  of  his  patience;  while  my  heart 
went  out  at  my  eyes  to  follow  the  gray  horse.  I  was  re 
warded  at  last.  The  whole  battery  charged  down  upon 
the  point  where  we  were  standing,  at  full  gallop,  "as  if 
we  had  been  the  Secession  army,"  Major  Fairbairn  re 
marked  ;  adding,  that  nothing  but  a  good  conscience  could 
have  kept  me  so  quiet.  And  in  truth  guns  and  horses 
and  all  were  close  upon  us  before  the  order  to  halt  was 
given,  and  the  gunners  flung  themselves  from  the  wagons 
and  proceeded  to  unlimber  and  get  the  battery  in  work 
ing  order,  with  the  mouths  of  the  cannon  only  a  few 
yards  from  our  standing-place.  I  hardly  heard  the 
major  now,  for  the  gray  horse  and  dark  rider  were  near 
enough  to  be  seen,  stationed  quietly  a  few  paces  in  the 
rear  of  the  line  of  guns.  I  saw  his  eye  going  watchfully 
from  one  point  to  another  of  his  charge;  his  head  mak 
ing  quick  little  turns  to  right  and  left  to  see  if  all  were 
doing  properly;  the  horse  a  statue,  the  man  alive  as  quick 
silver,  though  nothing  of  him  moved  but  his  head.  I  was 
sure,  very  sure,  that  he  would  not  see  me.  He  was  intent 
on  his  duty ;  spectators  or  the  whole  world  looking  on  were 
nothing  to  him.  He  would  not  even  perhaps  be  con 
scious  that  anybody  was  in  his  neighbourhood.  I  don't 
know  whether  I  was  most  glad  or  sorry ;  though  indeed 
I  desired  nothing  less  than  that  he  should  give  any  sign 


ON  HORSEBACK.  75 

that  he  saw  me.  How  well  he  looked  on  horseback,  I 
thought ;  how  stately  he  sat  there,  motionless,  overseeing 
his  command.  There  was  a  pause  now;  they  were  all 
still,  waiting  for  an  order.  I  might  have  expected  what  it 
would  be ;  but  I  did  not,  till  the  words  suddenly  came  out — 

'Battery— Fire!' 

The  voice  went  through  my  heart;  but  my  horse's 
nerves  were  immediately  as  much  disturbed  as  mine. 
The  order  was  followed  by  a  discharge  of  the  whole  bat 
tery  at  once,  sounding  as  the  burst  of  one  gun.  My 
horse,  exceedingly  surprised,  lifted  his  fore  feet  in  the  air 
on  the  instant;  and  otherwise  testified  to  his  discompo 
sure;  and  I  had  some  little  difficulty  to  keep  him  to  the 
spot  and  bring  him  back  to  quietness.  It  was  vexatious 
to  lose  such  precious  minutes;  however  we  were  com 
posed  again  by  the  time  the  smoke  of  the  guns  was 
clearing  away.  I  could  hardly  believe  my  eyes.  There 
lay  the  cannon,  on  the  ground,  taken  from  their  carriages ; 
the  very  carriages  themselves  were  all  in  pieces ;  here  lay 
one  wheel,  there  lay  another;  the  men  were  sitting  around 
contentedly. 

*  What  is  the  matter  ?'  I  exclaimed. 

'The  officer  in  charge  of  the  drill,  seeing  what  mis 
chief  his  guns  have  unwittingly  done,  you  see,  Miss  Ran 
dolph,  has  taken  his  battery  to  pieces.  He  will  not  fire 
any  more  while  you  are  here.  By  George!'  said  the 
major,  '  I  believe  here  he  comes  to  tell  us  so.' 

I  wished  myself  away,  as  I  saw  the  gray  horse  leap 
over  some  of  the  obstacles  before  him  and  bear  down 
straight  towards  me.  I  bowed  low,  to  hide  various 
things.  Mr.  Thorold  touched  his  cap  gravely,  to  the 
major  as  well  as  to  me,  and  then  brought  his  gray  horse 
alongside. 

'  Your  horse  does  not  like  my  battery/  he  remarked. 

I  looked  up  at  him.     His  face  was  safely  grave;  it 


76  DAISY. 

meant  business ;  but  his  eyes  sparkled  a  little  for  me ; 
and  as  I  looked  he  smiled,  and  added, 

'  He  wants  a  spur/ 

'  To  make  him  run  ?  I  had  difficulty  enough  to  pre 
vent  his  doing  that  just  now,  Mr.  Thorold.' 

'  No  ;  to  make  him  stand  still.     He  wants  punishing,' 

*  Miss  Randolph  deserves  a  great  deal  of  credit/  said 
the  major.  *  But  all  Southern  women  know  how  to  ride ; 
and  the  men  to  fight.' 

'  We  are  going  to  have  a  hard  time  then,'  said  Thor 
old  ;  with  a  wilful  presuming  on  his  privileges. 

'  But  what  have  you  done  with  your  battery  ?'  I  asked. 

'  Taken  it  to  pieces — as  you  see.' 

'  Pray,  what  for?  I  thought  something  was  the  matter.' 

'  Nothing  was  the  matter,  I  am  glad  to  know,'  Thorold 
said  looking  at  me.  '  It  is  sometimes  necessary  to  do  this 
sort  of  thing  in  a  hurry ;  and  the  only  way  to  do  it  then 
in  a  hurry,  is  to  practise  now  when  there  is  no  hurry. 
You  shall  see  how  little  time  it  will  take  to  get  ready  for 
another  order  to  fire.  But  Miss  Randolph  had  better  be 
out  of  the  way  first.  Are  you  going  farther  ?' 

The  major  said  he  hoped  so,  and  I  answered  certainly. 

'  I  shall  fire  no  more  while  you  are  here,'  Thorold  said 
as  he  touched  his  cap,  and  he  gallopped  back  to  his  place. 
He  sat  like  a  rock  ;  it  was  something  pretty  to  see.  Then 
came  an  order,  which  I  could  not  distinguish ;  and  in  an 
incredibly  short  time  wheels  were  geared,  guns  were 
mounted,  and  the  dismantled  condition  of  everything  re 
placed  by  the  most  alert  order.  The  major  said  it  was 
done  very  well,  and  told  me  how  quick  it  could  be  done ; 
I  forget,  but  I  think  he  said  in  m\ich  less  than  a  minute ; 
and  then  I  know  he  wanted  to  move ;  but  I  could  not. 
I  held  my  place  still,  and  the  battery  manoeuvred  up  and 
down  the  ground  in  all  manner  of  directions,  forming  in 
various  forms  of  battery ;  which  little  by  little  I  got  the 


ON  HORSEBACK.  77 

major  partially  to  explain.  He  was  not  very  fluent ;  and 
I  did  not  like  his  explanations ;  but  nevertheless  it  was 
necessary  to  give  him  something  to  do,  and  I  kept  him 
busy,  while  the  long  line  of  artillery  wagons  rushed 
over  the  ground,  and  skirted  it,  and  trailed  across  it  in 
diagonal  lines ;  walking  sometimes,  and  sometimes  going 
at  full  speed  of  horses  and  wheels.  It  stirred  me,  it  sad 
dened  me,  it  fascinated  me,  all  at  once ;  while  the  gray 
horse  and  his  rider  held  my  eye  far  and  near  with  a 
magnet  hold.  Sometimes  in  one  part  of  the  line,  some 
times  in  another,  the  moving  spirit  and  life  of  the  whole. 
I  followed  and  watched  him  with  eye  and  heart,  till  my 
heart  grew  sick  and  I  turned  away. 
7* 


CHAPTER   VI. 

IN     THE     FIRE. 

MY  ride  with  Major  Fairbairn  made  me  unsettled. 
Or  else  it  was  my  seeing  Mr.  Thorold  at  his  drill.  A 
certain  impatience  seized  me;  an  impatience  of  the  cir 
cumstances  and  position  in  which  I  found  myself  pri 
vately,  and  of  the  ominous  state  and  position  of  affairs  in 
public.  The  horizon  black  with  clouds,  the  grumble  of 
the  storm,  and  yet  the  portentous  waiting  and  quiet  which 
go  before  the  storm's  burst.  It  irked  me  to  see  Mr. 
Thorold  as  I  had  seen  him  yesterday;  knowing  ourselves 
united,  but  standing  apart  as  if  it  were  not  so,  and  telling 
a  lie  to  the  world.  It  weighed  on  me,  and  I  half  felt 
that  Christian  was  right  and  that  anything  openly  ac 
knowledged  was  easier  to  bear.  And  then  Major  Fair- 
bairn's  talk  had  filled  me  with  fears.  He  represented 
things  as  being  so  very  threatening,  and  the  outbreak  of 
the  storm  as  being  so  very  near;  I  could  not  regain  the 
tranquillity  of  the  days  past,  do  what  I  would.  I  did  a 
very  unwise  thing,  I  suppose,  for  I  went  to  reading  the 
papers.  And  they  were  full  of  Northern  preparations 
and  of  Southern  boastings;  I  grew  more  and  more 
unsettled  as  I  read.  Among  other  things,  I  remember, 
was  a  letter  from  Russell,  the  'Times'  correspondent,  over 
which  my  heart  beat  wearily.  For  Mr.  Russell,  I  thought, 
being  an  Englishman,  and  not  a  party  to  our  national 
quarrel,  might  be  expected  to  judge  more  coolly  and 
speak  more  dispassionately  than  our  own  writers,  either 
78 


TN    THE  FIRE.  79 

South  or  North.  And  the  speeches  he  reported  as  heard 
from  Southern  gentlemen,  and  the  feelings  he  observed  to 
be  common  among  them,  were  most  adverse  to  any  faint 
hope  of  mine  that  the  war  might  soon  end,  or  end  advan 
tageously  for  the  North,  or  when  it  ended  leave  my  father 
and  mother  kindly  disposed  for  my  happiness.  All  the 
while  I  read,  a  slow  knell  seemed  to  be  sounding  at  my 
heart.  "We  could  have  got  on  with  those  fanatics  if 
they  had  been  either  Christians  or  gentlemen" — "there 
are  neither  Christians  nor  gentlemen  among  them." 
"Nothing  on  earth  shall  ever  induce  us  to  submit  to  any 
union  with  the  brutal,  bigoted  blackguards  of  the  New 
England  States,  who  neither  comprehend  nor  regard  the 
feelings  of  gentlemen."  That  was  like  what  Preston 
said.  I  recognized  the  tone  well.  And  when  it  was 
added,  "Man,  woman  and  child,  we'll  die  first" — I 
thought  it  was  probably  true.  What  chance  then  for 
Christian  and  me?  "There  is  nothing  in  all  the  dark 
caves  of  human  passion,"  Mr.  Russell  wrote,  "so  cruel 
and  deadly  as  the  hatred  the  South  Carolinians  profess 
for  the  Yankees."  The  end  of  the  letter  contained  a 
little  comfort  in  the  intimation  of  more  moderate  counsels 
just  then  taking  favour;  but  I  went  back  to  my  father 
and  mother,  and  aunt,  and  Preston,  and  others;  and 
comfort  found  no  lodgment  with  me.  Then  there  was 
an  extract  from  a  Southern  paper,  calling  Yankees  "the 
most  contemptible  and  detestable  of  God's  creation" — 
speaking  of  their  "mean,  niggardly  lives — their  low, 
vulgar  and  sordid  occupations" — and  I  thought,  How  can 
peace  be?  or  what  will  it  be  when  it  comes? 

I  went  out  for  my  usual  evening  walk,  longing  and 
half  dreading  to  see  Mr.  Thorold ;  for  I  did  not  like  to 
shew  him  my  fears ;  they  gave  him  pain ;  and  yet  at  the 
same  time  I  wanted  him  to  scold  them  away.  But  this 
time  I  did  not  see  him.  I  walked  the  avenue,  at  first 


80  DAISY. 

eagerly,  then  anxiously;  then  with  an  intense  pressing 
pain  and  suspense  which  could  hardly  be  borne.  Neither 
Thorold  nor  Thorold's  horse  appeared  among  all  the 
figures  moving  there;  and  after  walking  as  long  as  I 
dared,  I  was  fain  to  go  home  with  that  pain  in  my  heart. 
It  seemed,  as  I  went  up  the  stairs  to  my  room,  almost  as 
if  I  could  die  at  once  with  it.  Yet  I  had  to  make  my 
hair  smooth  and  meet  Mrs.  Sandford  at  tea,  and  hear  all 
her  little  details  about  Dr.  Sandford' s  illness ;  which,  as 
they  were  precisely  the  same  as  those  of  the  day  before, 
had  nothing  even  to  hold  my  attention  for  a  moment. 
But  I  attended.  It  was  necessary.  And  I  eat  toast  and 
drank  tea.  That  was  necessary  too ;  with  every  mouth 
ful  a  stab  of  pain,  and  every  little  ordinary  incident  of 
the  tea-table  a  wrenching  of  my  heartstrings.  One  does 
those  things  quietly  and  the  world  never  knows.  But  I 
hailed  it  as  a  great  relief  when  Mrs.  Sandford  rose  from 
the  table. 

'Poor  Daisy!'  she  said.  'I  must  leave  you  to  yourself 
again — all  alone.  It's  too  bad!' 

'  I  like  it  very  well  so,'  I  told  her. 

'It  mustn't  go  on,'  she  said.  'Really  it  must  not. 
You  will  mope,  if  you  don't  already.  Don't  you,  Daisy? 
Where  are  all  your  admirers?' 

She  had  touched  my  face  caressingly  with  her  fingers, 
and  I  had  to  look  up  and  meet  her.  It  was  one  of  the 
hardest  minutes  of  self-control  I  ever  knew.  I  met  her 
and  answered  calmly,  even  coldly;  and  she  went;  and  I 
sat  down  and  shrank,  I  remember  how  I  shrank,  lower 
ing  my  head  and  neck  and  shoulders  in  a  crushing  reac 
tion  from  the  erect  self-assertion  of  the  moment  before. 
The  next  thing,  two  hands  were  on  my  shoulders  and  a 
voice  whispered  in  my  ear  a  question,  what  was  the 
matter.  So  as  no  other  voice  ever  asked  me  that  ques 
tion;  with  the  tender  assumption  of  the  right  to  know, 


IN  THE  FIRE.  81 

and  an  equally  gentle  hint  that  there  was  comfort  and 
help  somewhere  not  far  off.  Now,  however,  I  only  started 
up  with  terror  at  hearing  that  voice  there ;  terror  instantly 
displaced  by  another  terror  at  the  reason  of  its  being 
there.  I  knew,  I  can't  tell  how  I  knew,  by  the  first 
glance  into  Mr.  Thorold's  face. 

*  Yes,'  said  he  in  a  low  voice,  'I  have  got  orders.' 
1  Where  ?'  I  managed  to  ask.     '  To  do  what  ?' 

'I  must  take  a  battery  across  the  country  to  Gen. 
Patterson.' 

*  That  will  take  you  out  of  the  way,'  I  said. 

*  Out  of  the  way  of  what  ?'  said  he,  drawing  me  to  his 
breast  and  looking  down  into  my  face  with  his  hazel  eyes 
sparkling  over  a  depth  of  something  that  was  not  merry. 
*  Out  of  the  way  of  what,  Daisy  ?'  he  repeated.     '  Out  of 
the  way  of  fighting,  do  you  mean  ?     Is  that  your  way  of 
being  a  proper  soldier's  wife  ?    It  is  out  of  your  way,  love ; 
that  is  what  I  think  of.' 

I  hid  my  face  and  we  stood  still.  It  was  no  time  then 
to  be  dignified. 

*  How  long  ?' — I  whispered  at  last. 

1  Impossible  to  tell,  you  know.  I  could  not  meet  you 
this  evening.  I  must  be  off  in  an  hour.' 

'To-night?' 

<  Yes.' 

There  was  another  silence. 

'  What  is  Gen.  Patterson  doing  ?'  I  ventured  then. 

'  I  suppose  he  has  to  keep  Johnston  in  order.  How 
long  will  you  stay  in  Washington  ?  can  you  tell  ?' 

'  Till  Dr.  Sandford  can  travel. — He  is  no  better.' 

'  Well !' — and  a  breath  of  a  sigh  came  then  which 
went  to  my  heart — '  Something  will  be  decided  before  a 
few  days ;  and  then  we  shall  know  a  little  better  where 
we  stand.  I  must  go!' 

He  clasped  me  close  and  gave  me  kisses  all  over  my 
F 


82  DAISY. 

face ;  but  I  would  not  have  lost  one  this  time.  Then  he 
gently  put  me  on  the  sofa,  pressed  his  lips  to  mine  one 
last  time,  and  was  out  of  the  room  in  an  instant.  I 
listened  to  every  step  in  the  hall ;  I  heard  him  open  the 
door  and  shut  it ;  I  heard  his  foot  upon  the  stone  steps 
outside  two  or  three  times  ;  and  then  I  had  lost  all. 

I  sat  very  still  and  stunned  for  a  long  time.  There 
seemed  nothing  to  do.  I  could  not  rouse  myself.  It  wras 
the  fear  of  being  found  there  that  roused  me  at  last.  I 
gathered  myself  up,  and  went  to  my  room.  Oh  days, 
days !  How  much  one  lives  through. 

I  was  keen  set  now  for  news,  army  news  especially ; 
and  I  spent  hours  in  studying  all  the  public  prints  that 
were  within  reach  of  my  hand.  So  contradictory  they 
were,  and  so  confusing,  that  they  made  me  only  the  more 
long  for  actual  living  advices.  The  second  day,  Major 
Fairbairn  came  to  ask  me  again  to  ride ;  and  though  at 
first  I  thought  I  could  not,  the  next  feeling  of  restless  un 
certainty  and  suspense  decided  me.  Better  be  on  a  horse's 
back  than  anywhere  else,  perhaps.  And  Major  Fair- 
bairn  was  not  a  bad  person  to  talk  to.  But  I  had  to 
nerve  myself  forcibly  to  the  task  of  entering  upon  the 
subject  I  wanted. 

'  How  perplexing  the  papers  are,'  I  remarked,  by  way 
of  making  an  easy  beginning. 

'  Find  them  so  ?'  said  the  major.  '  That  is  because  you 
read  all  sides/ 

'  How  else  can  one  make  up  one's  mind  ?  How  can 
you  know  what  is  the  truth  ?' 

'  Apparently  you  do  not  know  it  that  way,'  said  the 
major  smiling.  '  No ;  the  way  is,  to  choose  your  side,  and 
stick  to  it.  Then  you  stand  a  chance  to  be  comfortable.' 

1  But  you  cannot  go  into  society  without  hearing  more 
sides  than  one.' 

*  Silence  the  wrong.' 


TN   THE   FIRE.  83 

'I  want  to  know  first  which  is  right.' 

'  Haven't  you  found  that  out  yet  ?'  my  companion  said 
with  a  surprised  glance  at  me.  '  I  thought,  Miss  Ran 
dolph,  you  were  a  safe  person ;  all  right  for  the  good 
cause.' 

'  O  yes,  of  course,  that  is  not  the  question.  I  do  not 
want  to  hear  both  sides  to  decide  that.  But  I  mean  lesser 
questions;  movements,  probabilities,  dangers;  the  truth 
of  actual  events.  Those  I  want  to  know  about.' 

'I  am  sure,  so  do  I,'  said  the  major. 

'I  hoped  you  could  enlighten  me,  Major  Fairbairn.' 

*  About  movements?'  said  the  major.  'Well,  our 
forces  are  moving ;  there  is  no  doubt.  McDowell  is 
going  forward  in  earnest  at  last.' 

t  Against  Beauregard  ?' 

'  Against  whatever  he  meets ;  and  I  suppose  Beaure 
gard  will  meet  him.' 

'  Then  there  will  be  a  battle  ?' 

'I  hope  so.' 

'  Why  do  you  hope  so,  Major  Fairbairn  ?' 

'  It  is  the  shortest  way  to  peace,  Miss  Randolph.  But 
it  is  not  likely  that  one  battle  will  do  it.' 

'  I  know  it  will  not  if  the  North  succeed,'  1  said;  'but 
how  if  the  Southern  army  should  get  the  better?' 

1  You  aren't  a  rebel  in  disguise  ?'  said  the  major,  look 
ing  askance  at  me.  '  Is  my  reputation  in  danger,  to  be 
riding  with  you  ?' 

'  It  is  just  as  well  to  look  the  truth  in  the  fac«,  Major 
Fairbairn.' 

'  So  it  is ;  you  are  right  there,'  said  my  companion 
seriously  enough.  '  Well,  I  look  for  a  long  tussle  of  it, 
whichever  way  this  particular  game  goes  to-day.  It  will 
be  well  if  there  is  anything  left  to  fight  for,  by  the  time 
it  is  over.' 

'  There  is  always  the  truth,' — I  said. 


84  DAISY. 

'The  truth  gives  poor  board  wages  to  its  servants, 
though,'  said  the  major.  'It  is  all  very  well  to  cry 
"victory,"  when  there  is  no  corn  in  the  hopper.' 

'Is  it  likely  that  Patterson  will  fight?'  I  asked,  with 
my  heart  in  my  mouth.  I  had  been  trying  to  get  this 
question  out ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  now  as  if  every  word 
were  as  big  as  two. 

'Humph! — I  don't  know,'  said  the  major.  'I  sup 
pose  he  will,  if  he  can't  help  it.' 

'  What  do  you  mean  ?' 

'Why,  he  has  got  work  enough  to  do,'  said  Major 
Fairbairn.  '  I  don't  know  if  it  is  work  that  he  likes. 
I  have  some  private  acquaintance  with  the  man.  His 
business  is  to  keep  Johnston  busy,  so  that  he  will  not 
have  leisure  to  look  our  way.' 

'  And  suppose  Patterson  does  not  do  his  duty  ?' 

'  Then  we  may  have  too  much  on  our  hands.  Beaure- 
gard  doesn't  want  any  help  just  now.'  And  weary,  no 
doubt,  of  the  subject,  the  major  diverged  to  some  lighter 
matters  of  conversation.  I  tried  to  answer  and  make 
talk,  but  my  heart  was  very  sick.  I  could  hardly  know 
what  he  was  saying;  Beauregard,  and  Patterson,  and 
Johnston,  so  ran  in  my  thoughts.  I  suppose  the  major 
did  not  find  it  out,  for  he  seemed  very  well  satisfied,  and 
at  parting  said  that  '  after  the  victory'  he  would  come 
and  have  another  ride  with  me. 

So  I  waited  now  for  news.  Dull,  dreadful  days  ;  long 
with  an  interminable  length  of  quarters  and  half  hours ; 
heavy  with  fear.  They  were  not  many ;  for  the  morning 
but  one,  I  think,  after  my  last  ride,  a  gentleman  stopped 
me  in  the  street  to  tell  me  that  firing  had  been  heard  that 
morning,  and  McDowell  had,  it  was  thought,  met  his 
enemy.  I  calculated  the  days  since  I  had  seen  Mr.  Thor- 
old ;  speculated  on  Patterson's  probable  activity  or  non- 
activity,  and  Christian's  consequent  place  and  duty  in 


IN  THE  FIRE.  85 

the  position  of  affairs  ;  and  could  only  know  that  it  was 
all  a  confusion  of  pain.  At  first  I  thought  to  go  at  once 
back  to  the  house  and  give  up  my  walk ;  but  a  second 
thought  of  that  dull  weary  waiting  inside  of  walls  sent 
me  on  up  the  avenue.  I  might  hear  something  more ;  at 
any  rate,  the  open  sky  was  a  better  breathing-place. 

The  open  sky !  Blue  and  calm  as  ever ;  moveless  and 
pure;  while  the  grim  strife  of  a  battlefield  was  raging 
beneath  it.  Was  there  another  struggle  where  Johnston's 
forces  were  opposed  by  Gen.  Patterson  ?  And  why  could 
I  not  leave  my  cares  now,  as  so  many  a  time  I  had  left 
them,  as  I  longed  to  leave  them  this  minute, — in  the 
hand  that  upheld  that  blue  sky  ?  I  could  not.  That  is 
to  say,  I  did  in  some  fashion,  which  kept  me  from  utterly 
fainting ;  but  I  was  not  confident ;  I  was  not  willing  that 
the  will  of  God  should  be  done  irrespective  of  mine,  I 
writhed  from  under  the  pressure  of  a  coming  possibility. 
Could  I  help  it  ?  My  one  first  earthly  joy,  the  treasure 
that  gathered  up  all  life's  riches  for  me ;  could  I  think 
of  that  treasure  being  scattered  and  not  know  that  I 
should  be  left  poor  ?  And  what  if  God  willed  I  should 
be  thus  poor  ?  Ah,  I  was  not  ready. 

I  had  a  long,  feverish  walk,  made  as  long  as  I  could  ; 
and  came  home  with  a  sort  of  thirst  of  heart,  and  very 
weary.  Mrs.  Sandford  met  me  and  I  had  to  turn  into 
the  parlour. 

'  Grant  is  a  little  better,  I  think,'  she  said. 

I  could  not  find  words  to  speak  to  her.  If  he  was 
better,  why  then  he  would  be  taking  me  from  Washing 
ton.  I  knew  how  it  would  be. 

'  He  is  certainly  better/  she  repeated  with  exultation 
in  her  voice ;  '  and  now  my  dear  Daisy,  we  will  get 
away  from  this  horrid  place.  My  dear,  how — how 
grey  you  look!  What  is  the  matter?  you  are  tired  to 
death.' 

VOL.  II. —  8 


00  DAISY. 

I  almost  wished  I  was.  However,  I  commanded  my 
self,  and  told  her  I  had  been  walking  far,  and  it  was  hot, 
and  no  doubt  I  was  grey  with  dust. 

'  And  do  you  know,'  Mrs.  Sandford  went  on,  '  they  say 
the  attack  has  commenced.  Firing  has  been  heard  from 
some  direction  down  in  Virginia;  the  doctor  told  me.' 

*  Mr.  Vinton  told  me.' 

'  Did  he  ?  while  you  were  out  ?  and  you  never  men 
tioned  it !  Daisy  you  are  the  coolest  creature.  I  envy 
you  for  that  more  than  for  everything  else  you  have  got ; 
though  people  do  say — some  people — that  Miss  Randolph's 
grey  eyes  are  depths  of  delight.  My  dear !  whose  pos 
sible  encomiums  have  I  hit  in  your  memory,  that  your 
cheeks  are  taking  up  the  matter  with  such  a  delicious 
rose  colour?' 

She  did  not  know  what  she  touched.  It  was  no  vanity, 
but  her  words  brought  up  suddenly  what  Thorold  had 
told  his  aunt  about  Vermont  lakes,  and  all  the  bitter- 
sweetness  of  that  evening.  My  heart  swelled.  I  was  very 
near  bursting  into  tears  and  astonishing  Mrs.  Sandford. 

1  Daisy,  my  dear,'  she  said  fondly  and  half  seriously, 
'  you  are  too  great  a  treasure  to  be  risked  out  of  your 
parents'  hands.  The  responsibility  is  weighing  upon  me. 

1  hope  Grant  will  get  well,  I  am  sure,  and  take  us  away. 
What  with  one  sort  of  danger  and  another,  it  is  really 
too  much.     Fancy,  what  it  would  be  if  we  were  to  lose 
this  battle !     Why  the  rebels  would  be  here  in  no  time ; 
the  doctor  said  so.' 

'Well — '  I  said.  I  could  not  tell  all  my  thought; 
that  in  such  an  event  I  would  not  be  anywhere  but  where 
I  was,  for  worlds ;  unless  indeed  I  could  be  with  the 
army  of  Gen.  Patterson  before  Johnston. 

'  Is  Dr.  Sandford  really  better  ?'  I  asked. 

'  He  certainly  is ;  I  am  so  glad !  and  I  will  tell  him 
you  asked  so  earnestly  about  him,  and  that  will  make 


IN  THE  FIRE.  87 

him  better  still.  Yes,  we  will  get  away  now  from  this 
dismal  place  some  time,  I  do  believe.  Do  go  and  lie 
down,  Daisy;  and  I  will  send  you  some  lemonade.' 

The  lemonade  stood  by  me  all  day ;  while  I  thought 
of  the  smoke  and  the  conflict  to  which  no  refreshment 
could  come.  I  could  not  touch  the  lemonade. 

I  cannot  tell  now  whether  that  day  was  Friday  or 
Saturday.  I  have  tried  to  recollect,  and  I  cannot. 
I  am  not  sure  whether  it  was  not  Thursday.  But 
I  know  it  was  Saturday  evening  when  the  next  thing 
happened  which  stands  clear  in  my  memory.  I  was 
in  my  own  room,  forlornly  endeavouring  to  work  some 
worsted  embroidery ;  though  the  sickness  of  my  heart 
seemed  to  find  its  way  into  my  fingers,  and  it  was 
with  pain  and  difficulty  that  they  pulled  the  needle  in 
and  out.  It  was  only  more  difficult  to  sit  still  and  do 
nothing ;  and  to  read  was  impossible.  I  sat  drawing  the 
wool  through  the  canvass — drawing  long  threads  of  thought 
at  the  same  time — when  Mrs.  Sandford  burst  in. 

'  Daisy ! — they  say  McDowell  has  had  a  bad  time — 
they  have  driven  him  back,  or  something ;  isn't  it  dread 
ful  ! — and  there  you  sit  embroidering  as  quiet  as  can  be. 
But  bless  me,  child !  you  haven't  a  bit  of  colour.  Wash 
ington  will  kill  us  all  yet.' 

'Who  told  you?' 

'  Doctor  Barnard  says  it's  so ;  it's  all  through  the  city. 
And  if  the  rebels  get  the  better  of  McDowell,  they'll 
come  straight  here,  Daisy,  and  take  Washington.  O  I 
wish  Grant  was  well  enough  to  set  right  off  to-morrow ! 
but  he  isn't.  How  can  you  be  so  quiet  ?  I  tell  you,  our 
army  has  been  repulsed,  and  how  bad  it  is  nobody 
knows.' 

*  We  had  better  wait  till  somebody  does  know,'  I  said. 
*  We  have  had  repulses  before.  There  was  Big  Bethel — 
and  Vienna — and  a  great  many.' 


88  DAISY. 

1  But  this  is  McDowell  and  the  great  army ;  and  Beau- 
regard  has  hosts  at  his  back.' 

'Well!—'  I  said. 

'But  you  are  dreadfully  pale,  Daisy.  How  can  you 
keep  so  quiet?  What  are  you  made  of?' 

'I  do  not  think  they  will  take  Washington,'  I  said. 
'  I  am  in  no  hurry,  for  my  part,  to  get  away.  Look — do 
you  say  maroon  or  dark  purple  for  this  bit  of  grounding  ? 
I  cannot  make  up  my  mind.' 

Mrs.  Sandford  dived  into  the  purples  and  browns  of  my 
coloured  wools ;  came  back  again  to  McDowell  and  Beau- 
regard,  but  came  back  quieted,  and  presently  left  the 
room.  Then,  I  put  down  my  needle  and  laid  my  head 
on  the  table  and  shook  from  head  to  foot  with  the  trem 
bling  she  had  given  me.  And  a  longing  to  see  Chris 
tian  took  possession  of  me ;  a  sick,  crying  thirst  for  the 
sight,  if  it  were  only  for  a  minute ;  the  impatient  agony 
of  self-will.  Necessity's  bands  and  manacles  put  it  down 
after  a  time. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday.  I  went  to  church  alone, 
and  with  my  usual  average  of  calm.  But  I  heard  some 
one  say  to  his  neighbour,  that  there  was  a  great  battle 
going  forward — with  what  promise  nobody  knew.  The 
words  sent  me  home  with  a  sort  of  half  breath.  I 
avoided  Mrs.  Sandford,  took  no  dinner;  and  in  the  after 
noon  feverishly  crept  out  to  church  again.  The  air 
seemed  to  me  full  of  bodings.  Yet  I  heard  nothing.  I 
saw  people  whisper  each  other,  and  nod ;  I  thought  good 
news  was  given  and  received,  and  I  breathed  a  little 
easier.  It  was  not  till  I  was  coming  out  from  the  service 
that  any  one  spoke  to  me.  I  found  myself  then  near  a 
gentleman  whom  we  knew. 

'Glorious  news,  Miss  Randolph!'  he. half  whispered. 
'Gen.  Scott  will  dine  with  a  good  appetite  to-day.' 

'What  is  the  news?' 


IN  THE  FIRE.  89 

'  O  a  great  victory !  We  have  not  got  the  details  yet, 
of  course;  but  it  seems  all  is  going  right/ 

'It  seems  going  right.' 

'  Yes.  You  know  we  have  not  details  yet.  There's 
been  heavy  fighting,  though.' 

'Is  it  a  general  engagement?' 

'  O  yes !  All  in  that  could  be  in.  And  some  that  had 
no  business  to  be  in.  They  say,  Johnston  has  reinforced 
Beauregard ;  but  they  are  totally  routed,  I  believe.  So 
it  is  said.' 

'Who  says  it?' 

'The  accounts  from  the  battlefield,  I  presume.  They 
are  coming  in  all  the  time.  The  Nation  has  triumphed. 
I  congratulate  you.  I  know  you  are  loyal.  Mrs.  Sand- 
ford  will  be  rejoiced.  Good  afternoon.' 

It  was  too  sudden,  too  soon,  and  too  confused.  I  could 
not  breathe  freely  yet.  Johnston  reinforced  Beauregard? 
That  was  just  what  Patterson  was  expected  to  prevent; 
ought  to  have  prevented.  Then,  probably,  Patterson  had 
done  no  fighting?  I  was  pondering,  when  I  suddenly 
found  Major  Fairbairn  beside  me.  He  belonged  with 
the  troops  left  to  guard  Washington. 

'O  Major,'  said  I,  'what  is  the  news?' 

Tiring  down  in  Virginia, — '  said  the  major  laconic 
ally. 

'Is  it  true,  that  a  battle  has  been  won  by  McDowell?' 

(I  wish  it  were,'  said  he;  'but  in  general  it  is  safe  not 
to  speak  of  a  fight  till  it  is  over. 

'Then  it  is  not  over?' 

'I  have  not  heard  that  it  is.' 

'But  they  tell  me  a  fight  has  been  won/ 

'They  tell  every  conceivable  thing  in  war-time/  said 
the  major.  'Don't  you  know  that?  It  is  safe  to  believe 
nothing.' 

'Has  Johnston  joined  Beauregard?' 
8* 


90  DAISY. 

'I  am  afraid  he  has.  The  advices  seem  to  put  that 
beyond  disbelief/ 

'You  are  afraid.  Then  the  news  means  nothing  to 
you ;  nothing  good,  I  mean  ?' 

'The  rumours  mean  nothing  to  me,'  said  the  major 
smiling.  'The  reliable  news  is  really,  so  far,  not  much. 
It  is  certain  there  is  a  battle  going  on,  Miss  Randolph, 
and  a  battle  along  the  whole  line.  And  it  is  certain  that 
Patterson  had  orders  to  follow  up  Johnston  and  keep  him 
from  troubling  us.  And  I  am  afraid  it  is  also  certain 
that  he  has  not  done  it — confound  him!  Excuse  me; 
but  a  man  who  don't  obey  orders  deserves  to  have  people 
swear  at  him,  Miss  Randolph.' 

I  left  the  major  at  a  corner,  and  before  I  got  home 
another  acquaintance  informed  me  that  the  victory  was 
undoubted,  though  severely  purchased,  and  that  the  city 
was  in  a  state  of  exultation.  I  did  not  know  what  to 
think.  I  said  as  little  as  possible  to  Mrs.  Sandford ;  but 
later  in  the  evening  Dr.  Barnard  came  with  the  details 
of  the  day,  and  the  added  intelligence  that  since  seven 
o'clock  the  firing  had  recommenced. 

'What  for?  if  the  victory  is  sure?'  said  Mrs.  Sandford; 
and  I  went  to  my  room  feeling  that  it  was  not  sure. 
Nevertheless  I  slept  that  night.  I  cannot  tell  why,  or 
how.  Whether  it  were  most  akin  to  weariness  or  despair,  I 
slept,  and  quietly,  and  the  whole  night  through.  But  I 
know  very  well  that  I  awaked  with  a  full  sense  that  it 
was  not  to  quietness  nor  peace.  I  took  up  my  burden  as 
I  got  out  of  bed. 

My  room  was  at  the  back  of  the  house.  Consequently 
I  heard  and  saw  nothing  of  the  outer  world  till  I  came 
down  to  the  breakfast-room.  Nobody  was  there  yet,  and 
I  went  to  the  window.  The  first  thing  I  saw  then  made 
my  heart  stand  still.  A  group  was  gathered  just  before 
the  window,  on  the  sidewalk.  In  the  midst  a  soldier, 


IN  THE  FIRE.  91 

one  of  a  gay  Zouave  regiment,  not  at  all  gay  now,  stood 
talking  to  a  little  crowd  of  listeners ;  talking  in  a  pour 
ing  rain,  which  nobody  seemed  to  care  about.  He  was 
wet ;  his  bright  uniform  was  stained  and  draggled ;  he 
had  no  musket ;  and  his  tasseled  cap  sat  on  a  head  which 
in  every  line  and  movement  expressed  defeat  and  disgrace. 
So  they  all  listened  who  stood  around ;  I  read  it  as  well 
as  if  I  had  heard  the  words  they  were  hearing.  I  saw 
dejection,  profound  sorrow,  absorbed  attention,  utter  for- 
getfulness  of  present  bodily  discomfort.  I  noticed  that 
one  man  who  carried  an  umbrella  had  put  it  down,  and 
stood  listening  in  the  rain.  Occasionally  the  soldier 
raised  his  arm  to  eke  out  his  words  with  a  gesture ;  and 
then  moved  a  step  as  if  to  go  on,  but  they  closed  around 
him  again  and  staid  him  with  eager  questions  or  urgings. 
I  was  very  near  throwing  up  the  sash  to  ask  what  it  all 
was ;  and  then  I  thought,  what  matter !  I  should  know 
soon  enough,  But  I  could  not  move  from  the  window ; 
and  Mrs.  Sandford  entering  and  seeing  me  there  came 
and  looked  over  my  shoulder.  I  did  not  know  it,  till  I 
heard  her  '  Good  Heavens !' — 

'  Daisy,  my  dear,  what  is  the  matter  ?' 

'  We  shall  hear  presently/  I  said,  turning  away  from 
the  window. 

'But  what  is  it f— And  Mrs.  Sandford  first  took  my 
place  and  then  did  what  I  had  been  tempted  to  do ;  threw 
up  the  sash. 

'  What  is  the  matter  ?'  she  said.  *  Is  there  news.  Men, 
is  there  news?' 

I  do  not  know  what  was  answered ;  I  did  not  hear ;  I 
had  gone  into  the  middle  of  the  room ;  but  Mrs.  Sanford 
closed  the  window  presently  and  came  to  me,  looking  even 
pale.  A  rare  thing  for  her. 

*  Daisy,  there  is  trouble,'  she  said. 

*  Yes, — '  I  answered. 


9^  DATSY. 

1  How  do  you  know  ?  They  say — they  say,  the  army 
is  all  cut  to  pieces !' — 

I  could  not  speak  about  it.  We  knew  nothing  yet ; 
but  Mrs.  Sandford  went  on. 

'He  says,  everybody  is  killed.  All  routed  and  des 
troyed,  the  army  is.  Can  it  be  possible  ?' 

I  thought  it  was  very  possible :  I  never  had  doubted 
but  that  the  Southerners — as  a  body — were  the  best 
fighters.  But  I  said  nothing;  while  Mrs.  Sandford 
poured  out  sorrows  and  fears  and  speculations  in  a 
breath.  I  could  have  smiled,  but  that  I  could  not  have 
smiled.  We  stood  still,  looking  at  each  other,  nobody 
remembering  breakfast.  I  was  thinking,  if  the  cause 
was  lost,  where  would  Mr.  Thorold  be  then.  And  I 
ceased  to  hear  Mrs.  Sandford. 

'But  Daisy!'  she  said  suddenly — 'the  other  army — 
Beauregard's — they  will  be  here  directly  to  take  Wash 
ington,  if  all  this  is  true ;  and  it  must  be  true ;  or  that 
soldier  would  not  have  been  out  there  in  the  rain.  They 
will  be  coming  here  directly,  Daisy.  And,  bless  me! 
how  wicked  I  am  !  You  are  standing  there,  patient  and 
pale,  and  you  have  had  no  breakfast.  Come  here  and 
let  me  give  you  some  coffee.  Grant  said  he  would  be 
down  to  dinner  perhaps  ;  and  how  angry  he  would  be/ 

We  drank  cups  of  coffee,  but  I  do  not  think  either  of 
us  broke  bread. 

That  was  a  weary  day.  All  the  day  long  new  groups 
were  forming  and  dispersing  in  the  street,  telling  and 
talking  over  the  news;  groups  of  all  sorts.  Soldiers 
discoursing  to  audiences  like  the  one  in  the  morning; 
knots  of  officers ;  twos  and  threes  of  business  men ;  de 
bating,  inquiring,  discussing;  all  under  the  dark  rain, 
all  with  downcast  faces  and  dispirited  bearing.  Late  in 
the  day  Major  Fairbairn  called.  He  somewhat  reassured 
us.  The  carnage  was  not  so  great ;  the  loss  not  so  tre- 


IN  THE  FIRE.  93 

mendous,  as  we  had  at  first  been  told  ;  the  damage  done 
not  so  absolutely  overwhelming. 

'Then  you  do  not  think  Beauregard  will  come  and 
take  Washington  ?'  Mrs.  Sandford  asked. 

' I  don't  know!'  the  major  said  with  a  smile.  'He 
must  be  quick  about  it,  or  it  will  be  too  late/ 

'  But  is  this  a  final  settling  of  the  question,  Major 
Fairbairn  ?'  I  inquired.  '  That  is  what  I  want  to  know.' 

'  We  have  been  whipped,'  he  said  looking  at  me. 

'  Yes,  I  know ;  but  the  North — will  they  take  this  as 
a  settlement  of  the  question  ?' 

'  The  North !'  echoed  the  Major.  '  Will  they  give  up, 
you  mean?  Not  just  yet!  The  Government  does  not 
feel  like  it.  Do  you?' 

'  I  am  so  ignorant — '  I  answered. 

'You  must  be, — pardon  my  saying  so.  Not  at  all. 
The  sting  of  the  whip  will  make  us  move  faster.  Orders 
are  issued  already  for  the  reinforcement  and  reorganiza 
tion  of  the  army.  Gen.  McClellan  is  to  take  command 
here;  and  we  will  get  things  upon  a  new  basis.' 

'  Is  McClellan  the  man  we  want  ?'  Mrs.  Sandford  inquired. 

'I  cannot  say.     If  he  is  not,  we  will  wait  for  another/ 

'You  are  very  cool,  Major  Fairbairn!'  said  the  lady. 

'It  is  the  best  plan,  in  July.' 

'But  it  is  very  hard  to  keep  cool.' 

The  major  smiled  and  looked  at  me. 

'What  has  Patterson  been  doing  all  this  while?'  I 
asked.  Smiles  died  out  of  the  major's  face. 

'He  has  kept  cool,'  he  said.  'Easy — when  a  man 
never  was  wrarm.' 

'And  you  think,  major,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford,  'you 
really  think  that  the  truth  is  not  so  bad  as  it  has  been 
reported.  Why  Mr.  May  was  positive  the  rebels  would 
come  and  take  Washington.  You  think  there  has  not 
been  such  dreadful  loss  of  life  after  all?' 


94  DAISY. 

'A  tenth  of  the  story  will  be  nearer  the  mark/  said 
the  major.  'But  we  shall  know  more  particulars  to 
morrow;  and  I  will  step  in  again,  as  I  can,  and  let  you 
know  what  I  know.  I  must  not  stay  now.'  And  with 
a  bow  to  me,  the  major  went. 

I  did  not  stop  then  to  inquire  what  his  bow  meant. 
Nor  did  I  hear  Mrs.  Sandford's  long  string  of  comments 
and  speculations,  any  further  than  was  necessary  to  enable 
me  to  reply  from  time  to  time  with  some  show  of  con 
nectedness.  I  was  eagerly  calculating  chances,  without 
any  basis  of  data  to  go  upon.  Trying  to  conjecture 
Gen.  Patterson's  probable  coming  duty,  and  to  what  it 
might  lead.  If  his  foe  had  disappeared  from  before  him, 
must  he  not  follow  on  this  way,  where  (I  thought)  men 
were  so  imperatively  needed?  If  he  came,  there  would 
be  fighting  for  him,  certainly,  the  next  time!  Beaure- 
gard  would  muster  again  for  the  fray;  I  knew  that;  and 
it  seemed  the  Union  army  was  going  to  make  ready  also 
on  its  side.  If  Patterson  and  his  command  staid  where 
he  was,  to  take  care  of  that  part  of  the  country,  perhaps 
— it  might  be  a  bloodless  charge  for  a  while ;  it  might, 
till  the  two  grand  armies  should  encounter  once  more, 
and  one  or  the  other  get  the  mastery.  Then,  how  long 
might  it  be,  before  these  two  armies  would  be  ready  to 
try  another,  a  third  tussle  together?  and  would  Mr. 
Thorold  be  willing  to  stay  permanently  where  inaction 
would  be  his  portion?  Twenty  such  incongruous  un 
reasonable  questions  I  was  mooting  and  turning  over, 
while  Mrs.  Sandford's  running  fire  of  talk  made  it  im 
possible  for  me  to  think  to  any  conclusion. 

When  I  went  up  to  my  room,  however,  and  got  free  of 
her,  I  sat  down  to  it.  There  had  been  no  fighting  for 
this  bout  in  that  part  of  the  army  where  Patterson  com 
manded  and  where  Thorold  served.  So  far  he  had  es 
caped.  Now,  if  Patterson  could  only  be  kept  in  that 


IN  THE  FIRE.  95 

region,  for  a  little  time,  and  the  question  between  the 
North  and  South  be  brought  to  an  issue  meanwhile  and 
decided  here — 

I  was  in  a  fever  of  hope  and  fear,  cogitating  deeply 
things  which  I  had  no  means  of  knowing  or  settling, 
when  the  question  suddenly  occurred  to  me,  What  was  I 
doing?  What  was  I  doing?  Ouly,  trying  to  arrange 
the  wheels  of  Providence;  trying  to  make  peace  and 
war;  to  kill  and  to  keep  alive.  I  was  taking  and  bear 
ing  on  my  shoulders  the  burden  of  the  nation's  armies 
and  of  their  destiny.  It  fell  on  my  heart  all  at  once, 
what  I  was  doing.  And  my  nerves  were  straining,  even 
now,  to  throw  around  my  beloved  the  shield  of  circum 
stances  ;  to  keep  him  where  he  would  be  safe ;  to  put  my 
hand  between  his  life  and  a  blow.  Could  Daisy  do  that? 
Was  her  arm  long  enough,  or  her  eye  enough  far-seeing? 
In  despair  and  in  humiliation  both,  I  fell  on  my  knees. 
This  must  be  given  up.  I  must  leave  armies  and  battles, 
yes  and  every  several  bullet  and  cannon  ball,  yes,  yes, 
and  more ;  I  must  leave  Mr.  Thorold's  life  and  heart  in 
other  hands  than  mine.  I  must  put  the  care  of  them 
out  of  mine ;  I  must  give  up  even  the  thought  of  shield 
ing  him,  or  arranging  for  him.  More.  Yes,  though  it 
pressed  upon  my  heart  with  the  great  difficulty, — I  must 
be  willing  to  have  God  do,  with  him  and  with  me,  just 
what  He  pleased.  How  else  could  I  live,  with  the  strug 
gle  before  me?  How  else  could  I  live  at  all  as  a  believ 
ing  and  obedient  child  of  God?  'I  must/  and  'I  will,' 
are  not  words  for  a  child  to  say. 

My  heart,  my  heart,  how  it  died  within  me  as  I  saw 
my  duty !  as  I  saw  that  it  behooved  me  to  give  up  all, 
and  then  wait  in  patience  to  see  what  the  Lord  would  let 
me  have.  My  heart  died  first,  and  then  rose  again  to  the 
struggle.  But  those  only  know  what  a  struggle  it  is,  who 
have  tried.  It  seems  to  me,  most  people,  even  Christians, 


96  DAISY. 

do  not  try.  Yet,  to  'forsake  all,'  the  test  of  discipleship, 
what  is  it  but  to  cease  saying  'I  must'  and  'I  will/  about 
anything,  and  to  hold  everything  thenceforth  at  the 
will  of  God.  I  spent  that  night  on  my  knees,  when  I 
was  not  walking  the  floor.  I  spent  it  in  tears  and  in 
pleading  the  promises ;  sometimes  almost  in  despair.  But 
I  reached  at  last  a  place  of  great  calm.  I  gave  up  in 
sisting  upon  my  own  will ;  and  though  with  every  nerve 
of  affection  throbbing,  as  it  were,  I  gave  up  the  care  of 
myself  and  of  Thorold;  I  gave  up  the  disposal  of  the 
lives  of  both.  And  when  the  calm  was  once  reached,  it 
grew  deeper  and  quieter,  and  the  throbbing  nerves  were 
stilled,  and  a  great  burden  was  taken  off  my  shoulders. 
And  then,  the  sense  of  a  love  better  than  mine,  and  of  a 
power  stronger  than  mine,  stole  over  my  heart  with  an 
infinite  sweetness ;  the  parched  and  thirsty  places  of  my 
spirit  seemed  to  catch  the  dews  of  heaven;  and  still 
soothed  and  quieted  more  and  more,  I  went  to  sleep  with 
my  head  upon  the  bed's  side,  where  I  was  kneeling. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

DETAILED     FOR     DUTY. 

I  AWAKED  in  the  peace  of  one  who  has  laid  his  burden 
down.  My  joints  were  a  little  stiff,  from  the  position  in 
which  I  had  slept ;  my  mind  was  set  free.  The  charge 
of  the  rival  armies  and  their  conflicts  was  no  longer  on 
my  shoulders ;  even  the  care  of  individual  life  and  safety 
I  thought  no  longer  to  secure.  Myself  I  was  a  soldier, 
in  a  different  army  ;  and  I  had  been  forgetting  my  busi 
ness  and  presuming  into  the  General's  province.  No 
wonder  my  nerves  were  strained  and  my  heart  almost 
broken.  That  was  now  all  given  up;  and  I  went 
through  my  morning  duties  in  a  quiet  that  was  profound, 
if  it  was  also  very  humble.  I  had  found  the  only  har 
bour  of  rest  that  can  be  found  on  the  shores  of  this 
world ;  that  one  which  is  entered  by  paying  the  tribute 
of  one's  self-will.  The  tides  of  the  great  sea  do  not  rise 
and  fall  there;  the  anchorage  is  good;  the  winds  that 
sweep  over  the  waters  bring  balm  with  them ;  and  the 
banner  that  floats  at  the  entrance  bears  this  inscription — 
1  He  shall  not  be  afraid  of  evil  tidings ;  his  heart  is  fixed, 
trusting  in  the  Lord.' 

The  first  thing  I  heard  from  Mrs.  Sandford  was  that 
the  doctor  was  almost  well  and  would  come  down  stairs 
after  breakfast.  I  knew  what  that  portended  for  me; 
I  thought  I  knew;  but  as  I  said,  I  had  given  up  the 
management  of  myself  and  my  concerns.  '  If  ye  be  not 
able  to  do  that  thing  which  is  least,  why  take  ye  thought 
VOL.  ii. — 9  G  97 


98  DAISY. 

for  the  rest  ?'  I  got  my  worsted  and  sat  down  stairs  at 
my  work,  to  be  ready  to  see  the  doctor  when  he  should 
come.  Mrs.  Sandford  took  post  at  the  window ;  and  so 
we  waited.  The  weather  to-day  was  clear  and  bright ; 
the  street  full  yet  of  motley  groups,  returned  soldiers  and 
gathered  civilians,  looking  however  far  less  dismal  than 
the  day  before.  Mrs.  Sandford  from  the  window  detailed 
all  she  saw ;  while  my  worsted  needle  went  in  and  out 
to  an  interrupted  refrain — "  He  shall  not  be  afraid  of  evil 
tidings" — "  Why  take  ye  thought  ?" — 

Then  Mrs.  Sandford  said,  '  Here  comes  the  major, 
Daisy.  It  seems  to  me  he  is  very  attentive — '  and  in  the 
major  walked. 

He  gave  his  hand  to  me,  and  his  eye  glanced  at  the 
figure  in  the  window.  I  could  not  help  the  thought  that 
he  wished  it  not  there.  But  things  too  far  down  had 
been  stirred  in  me,  for  a  little  surface  matter  like  this  to 
move  my  calm. 

'  What  news,  major?'  my  friend  asked. 

'  Good.  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Sandford  ?  I  told  you 
yesterday  that  it  would  be  good.' 

*  Yes,  but  how  good  is  it,  Major  Fairbairn  ?' 
1  Fine.' 

*  Well  go  on  and  tell  us.     You  are  a  nice  major/ 

'  Thank  you.  In  the  first  place,  as  you  may  remem 
ber  I  said  it  would  be,  the  lists  of  casualties  are  greatly 
reduced.' 

'  Casualties  ?'  said  Mrs.  Sandford.  '  What  is  that  ?  I 
am  learning  so  many  new  things.' 

'The  lists  of  the  killed  and  wounded.' 

'  Oh !  That  is  what  a  military  man  calls  casualties, 
Daisy,  my  dear.' 

'  It  is  the  term  in  common  use — '  said  the  major,  look 
ing  somewhat  taken  aback. 

'  I  know.     Pray,  Major  Fairbairn,  have  the  officers  of 


DETAILED  FOR  DUTY.  9'J 

the  army  the  reputation  of  making  good  husbands  and 
heads  of  families  ?' 

'  I  have  always  heard  that  they  did,'  said  the  major, 
colouring  a  little  and  by  no  means  free  of  his  astonish 
ment. 

'  I  don't  see  how  they  can  have  any  sympathy  for  little 
common  heartaches  and  headaches,  though,  when  to  be 
run  through  the  body  is  such  a  trifle.  They  can't,  I 
think,  major.' 

'  But  Mrs.  Sandford—' 

'For  instance,'  the  lady  went  on  unmercifully, — 'for 
instance,  Miss  Randolph  has  her  head  taken  oif  by  a 
cannon  ball.  The  doctor  and  I  are  desolate ;  but  Major 
Fairbairn  says  it  is  a  "  casualty."  Or,  the  doctor  him 
self  may  be  hit  by  a  shot  not  intended  for  him,  and  put 
out  of  charge  of  his  hospital  for  ever.  Miss  Randolph 
and  I  are  in  ashes ;  but  our  friend  Major  Fairbairn  says 
it  is  only  a  "  casualty."  ' 

'  But  friends,  Mrs.  Sandford, — '  the  major  began. 

'  Everybody  has  friends,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford.  '  I  was 
reading  in  the  paper  just  now  a  list  of  these  little  acci 
dents.  One  man  had  his  leg  shattered  by  a  minie  ball ; 
it  killed  him  in  a  few  hours.  Another  had  a  charge  of 
grape  shot  in  his  breast;  it  struck  the  spine.  He  is 
dead.  What  is  grape  shot,  Major  Fairbairn  ?' 

The  major  hastily  passed  to  the  sideboard  in  the  other 
room  and  brought  me  a  glass  of  water. 

'  Daisy ! '  Mrs.  Sandford  exclaimed.  '  Are  you  faint, 
my  dear  ?  These  are  only  casualties.  My  dear,  are  you 
faint?  what  is  the  matter? — Bless  me,  how  white  you 
are!  What  is  it?' 

I  drank  the  water,  and  struggled  back  into  compo 
sure,  at  least  outwardly ;  being  very  much  surprised  at 
myself. 

'But  what  is  the  matter,  Daisy?  what  is  the  matter? 


100  DAISY. 

I  have  said  nothing  in  the  world.  Cannot  you  bear 
that?' 

'Major  Fairbairn  was  going  to  tell  us  something, 
ma'am,'  I  said,  endeavouring  to  throw  my  thoughts 
off. 

'That  can  wait  until  you  are  better/ 

'No/  I  said,  'do  not  wait.  I  am  well.  What  were 
you  going  to  say,  major?' 

'  Only  that  things  are  much  better  than  they  were  sup 
posed  to  be  yesterday.' 

'  You  said  that  before.     Please  go  on/ 

'Well,  it  is  always  so/  said  the  major.  'At  first  all 
the  stragglers  are  counted  for  lost.  Then  they  come  in. 
They  are  coming  in  now,  by  scores,  all  the  while.  In 
stead  of  thousands  killed  and  wounded,  it  is  found  to 
day  that  there  are  but  five  or  six  hundred ;  and  without 
being  particularly  hard  hearted,  I  rejoice  at  it.  That  is 
part  of  what  I  was  going  to  say/ 

The  major  spoke  gravely,  and  looked  at  me  with  an 
anxious  expression.  I  assured  him  I  was  better,  and 
begged  him  to  tell  us  the  rest. 

'  You  have  put  it  all  out  of  my  head,  Miss  Randolph. 
Will  you  have — won't  you  have — something  else  ? — wine  ? 
Pardon  me,  you  have  not  regained  your  usual  colour/ 

'The  best  thing  would  be  some  more  of  your  good 
news.  I  have  a  great  appetite  for  good  news,  after  yes 
terday/ 

'  Naturally.  Well,  the  rest  of  my  news  is  very  good. 
The  country  is  answering  the  call  made  upon  her/ 

'The  call  for  fortitude?'  said  Mrs.  Sandford. 

'  The  call  for  men, — and  for  pluck,  if  you  like,'  said 
the  major. 

'  More  men,' — said  Mrs.  Sandford. 

'Certainly.  We  must  have  men.  And  from  every 
quarter,  wherever  we  have  heard,  there  comes  an  enthu- 


DETAILED  FOR   DUTY.  101 

siastic  response.  Sixty  thousand  new  men  have  been  ac 
cepted  already  by  the  Government ;  and  they  are  coming 
in  all  the  while.  There  will  be  a  very  great  number  of 
fresh  arrivals  here  in  a  very  few  days.  Miss  Randolph, 
your  question  is  answered/ 

1  What  question,  Major  Fairbairn  ?' 

'  Whether  the  North  would  give  up,  you  know.' 

'  I  am  glad,'  I  said.     '  I  am  glad !' 

'  And  even  in  saying  it,  you  grow  pale  again,  Daisy. 
You  are  not  well !'  Mrs.  Sandford  exclaimed. 

'  Perfectly  well.     These  times  are  exciting/ 

'Rather  too  exciting.  I  like  the  excitement  that 
brings  the  blood  into  the  cheeks.  Do  go  out  and  take  a 
walk;  you  want  fresh  air;  or  yesterday  has  unstrung 
your  nerves.  But  you  were  so  quiet,  I  thought  nothing 
moved  you.  Do  go  and  take  a  walk,  Daisy/ 

The  major  added  a  quiet  word  of  urging,  saying  that 
if  I  could  go  at  once  he  would  see  that  I  did  not  faint 
before  I  got  home. 

I  was  bewildered,  I  think,  or  I  should  not  have  gone ; 
but  I  wanted  to  get  away  from  the  talk  and  to  feel  the 
fresh  air ;  I  was  stifled ;  and  I  went.  My  nervous  pertur 
bation  was  a  surprise  to  me.  I  had  given  up  everything, 
I  thought ;  I  was  quite  calm,  ready  for  everything.  I 
thought  I  was ;  and  yet,  so  little  a  word  had  unsettled 
me.  So  I  went  with  the  major.  And  then,  I  was 
brought  to  myself  presently  by  more  than  the  fresh  air ; 
for  I  found  my  friend  somewhat  too  happy  in  his  charge, 
and  more  careful  of  me  than  I  chose  he  should  think 
there  was  any  occasion  for.  Moreover,  I  could  not  bear 
to  accept  his  care.  I  summoned  my  forces  and  plunged 
him  into  a  depth  of  political  and  philosophical  discussion 
which  he  could  not  get  out  of  till  he  left  me  again  at  my 
own  door.  I  reassured  Mrs.  Sandford  then ;  and  sat 
down  to  my  worsted  embroidery  with  a  profound  sense 
9* 


102  DAISY. 

of  how  little  my  strength  was.  A  few  minutes  after 
wards  Dr.  Sandford  came  in. 

I  had  not  seen  him  now  for  several  weeks ;  and  I  never 
saw  him  look  better.  It  immediately  struck  me,  that 
with  him  well,  it  mattered  comparatively  little  whether 
Mr.  Thorold  and  I  were  in  the  same  place  together  or  not. 
Dr.  Sandford's  clear  blue  eye  was  not  to  be  braved  with 
impunity.  No  more  was  it  to  be  shunned.  But  I  needed 
not  to  shun  it.  I  met  it  full  now.  I  could,  since  last 
night.  The  disposal  of  my  affairs,  if  it  was  not  in  me, 
it  certainly  was  not  in  him.  He  met  me  with  a  smile 
and  a  look  of  pleasure ;  and  sat  down  by  me  to  watch 
the  progress  of  my  worsted  work.  So  ostensibly ;  but  I 
soon  knew  that  he  was  watching  not  my  work,  but  me. 

'How  have  these  weeks  been  with  Miss  Kandolph? 
Dull?' 

'No,'  I  said;— 'not  dull.' 

'How  have  they  escaped  that?' 

'There  has  been  too  much  to  interest,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

'Yet  I  see  you  at  your  Berlin  wools.  Pardon  me — • 
but  whenever  I  see  a  lady  busy  with  her  needle  and  a  bit 
of  canvass,  I  always  think  she  is  hard  up  for  something 
to  think  of.  Pardon  again,  Daisy.  I  know  you  have  no 
mercy  upon  slang.' 

'See  how  mistaken  you  are,  Dr.  Sandford." 

'In  that?     Not  in  that.' 

'No;  but  in  your  notions  about  wool  and  canvass.' 

'They  are  true!'  said  the  doctor. 

'Ah  but,  don't  you  know  that  extremes  meet?' 

'What  extremes?' 

'All  extremes,  perhaps.  I  have  been  working  worsted 
for  a  day  or  two,  just  because  I  had  so  much  to  think  of.' 

'They  have  been  exciting  days,'  said  the  doctor  slowly, 
— 'to  a  sick  man  who  could  do  nothing.' 

'Why  not  to  a  woman,  for  the  same  reason?' 


DETAILED  FOR  DUTY.  103 

'Have  they  tried  you  very  much,  Daisy?' 

'  Why  she  was  turning  faint  here  a  little  while  ago,' 
broke  in  Mrs.  Sandford,  '  because  I  was  giving  an  account 
of  some  wounded  soldiers  I  had  read  about  in  the  papers ; 
and  the  major  and  I  persuaded  her  to  go  out  and  take  a 
walk  to  recover  herselfl' 

'The  major? — that  is  indefinite,  though  you  use  the 
definite  article.  What  major?' 

'O  we  have  a  number  of  military  friends.  They  have 
kept  us  alive  since  you  have  been  shut  up.  What  is  this 
one,  Daisy?  He  is  a  very  good  one.  Major  Fairbairn.' 

'Fairbairn?     I  do  not  know  him,'  said  the  doctor. 

'It  is  not  necessary  that  you  should  know  everybody,' 
said  his  sister-in-law.  'Daisy  knows  him  very  well.' 

'And  likes  him — '  said  the  doctor;  'or  he  could 
not  have  a  share  in  persuading  Miss  Randolph  to  any 
thing.' 

'Yes,  I  like  him,'  I  said.  I  thought,  the  more  friends 
in  the  army  I  had,  the  better;  and  also,  that  Dr.  Sand- 
ford  must  not  be  permitted  to  push  his  lines  too  far. 

'Who  is  Major  Fairbairn?' 

'  I  do  not  know ;  he  is  from  Maine  or  New  Hampshire, 
I  think.' 

'  Your  parents,  Daisy,  would  not  desire  these  Northern 
associations  for  you ;  would  they  ?' 

I  do  not  know  with  what  calm  I  faced  the  doctor  and 
answered  him.  "These  Northern  associations" — the 
words  touched  the  innermost  beatings  of  my  heart — if 
such  an  expression  can  be  used.  Yet  I  looked  at  Dr. 
Sandford  in  absolute  calm,  knowing  all  that  the  doctor 
did  not  know,  and  spoke  with  perfect  composure. 

'I  cannot  escape  them,  you  know,  Dr.  Sandford,  unless 
I  were  to  go  over  to  the  enemy's  lines ;  and  I  cannot  do 
that.' 

'I  would  not  wish  that,'  said  the  doctor. 


104  DAISY. 

'Then  your  feelings  continue  all  with  the  Northern 
men,  Daisy?' 

4  All— '  I  said. 

I  went  back  to  my  worsted  work,  but  I  had  a  sense 
that  the  doctor  was  studying  me.  One  cannot  judge,  of 
course,  of  one's  own  manner,  or  know  what  is  in  it;  so  I 
cannot  tell  what  had  been  in  mine.  The  doctor  sat  and 
considered  me;  I  thought,  in  some  perplexity. 

*  Daisy's  feelings  are  appreciated  and  returned  by  the 
Northern  men,'  Mrs.  Sandford  said,  laughing.  'Rides 
and  walks — how  many  rides  and  walks  have  you  taken, 
Daisy,  these  forlorn  weeks,  with  officers  of  the  Northern 
army?  O  they  are  not  ungrateful.' 

Dr.  Sandford  made  no  answer,  and  when  he  spoke  I 
knew  he  was  not  making  answer  to  these  words.  But 
they  startled  me. 

'  Is  there  anybody  engaged  in  this  struggle,  Daisy,  that 
you  are  concerned  for?' 

'Certainly!'  I  said; — 'several/. 

'I  was  not  aware — '  the  doctor  began. 

'Some  whom  you  know,  and  some  whom  you  don't 
know,  and  on  both  sides.' 

'You  have  a  cousin,  I  believe,  somewhere  in  the 
Southern  army.  He  was  at  West  Point,  if  I  remember.' 

'  Preston  Gary.  I  do  not  know  where  he  is  now,  only 
he  is  among  them.  They  say,  he  is  with  Beauregard. 
I  was  very  fond  of  him.  Then  there  is  my  brother ;  he 
either  is  with  them  or  he  will  be;  and  there  are  still 
others.' 

'  On  the  Southern  side,'  said  the  doctor. 

'  Those  two  are  on  the  Southern  side,'  I  said.  '  Others 
Are  on  the  Northern.  I  am  there  myself.' 

'Not  exactly  in  the  struggle,'  said  the  doctor;  'and 
yet,  I  do  not  know.  These  women  !' 

I  think  the  doctor  was  baffled  by  my  perfect  quietness 


DETAILED  FOR  DUTY.  105 

and  readiness.  He  spoke  presently  in  a  disengaged  man 
ner, 

'Mr.  Ransom  Randolph  is  in  no  danger  at  present. 
I  know  from  a  word  in  a  late  letter  from  your  father, 
that  he  is  in  Europe  still.  Would  you  not  like  to 
get  out  of  this  confused  state  of  things,  and  join  them 
there?' 

'  I  would  like  better  to  go  if  it  was  peace  here,'  I 
said. 

'  Would  you  ?  Then  you  are  not  afraid  lest  the  rebels 
should  take  Washington  and  confiscate  the  whole  of 
us?' 

'  MajorFairbairn  thinks  the  danger  of  that  is  past.' 

*  He  does !    However,  other  dangers  might  arise — ' 

'  I  knew  you  would  not  think  Washington  very  safe 
ground  for  us,'  Mrs.  Sandford  rejoined. 

'Mrs.  Sandford  is  at  her  own  risk.  But  I  should 
hardly  be  doing  the  duty  of  a  good  guardian  if  I  risked 
anything,  where  so  important  a  charge  is  committed  to 
me.  I  shall  get  you  away  from  here  without  delay. 
How  soon  can  you  both  be  ready  ?' 

I  wanted  to  say  I  was  ready,  but  I  could  not  get  out 
the  words.  My  two  friends  debated  the  matter,  and  the 
doctor  fixed  his  own  time.  The  day  after  to-morrow. 

It  was  good  for  me,  that  I  had  given  up  the  charge  of 
my  own  interests ;  or  I  never  could  have  maintained  the 
ease  of  manner  which  it  was  desirable  to  maintain  in  face 
of  this  proposition.  I  was  very  calm,  remembering  that 
'  a  man's  heart  deviseth  his  way,  but  the  Lord  directeth 
his  steps.'  I  went  on  with  my  worsted  stitching  under 
the  eye  of  the  doctor.  I  do  not  know  why  he  watched 
me  so. 

'  Has  anybody  ventured  to  tell  you,  Miss  Randolph, 
that  you  have  changed  within  a  few  months?'  This 
question  was  put  after  I  had  forgotten  the  doctor  and 


106  DAISY. 

was  marching  somewhere  before  a  battery  in  Patterson's 
column.  I  started  a  little. 

'  Yes,  indeed !  has  she  not  ?'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sandford. 
1  Changed!  She  came  out  of  school  the  dearest  little 
schoolgirl  that  ever  lived ;  or  I  should  say,  she  went  back 
to  school  so,  last  year.  What  has  the  year  done  to  you, 
Daisy?' 

*  What  has  it  done  to  me  ?'  I  replied,  smiling  at  her. 
*  How  am  I  changed  T 

1  Changed !'  Mrs.  Sandford  repeated.  '  Tell  her,  Grant, 
what  is  she  now  T 

'She  would  not  thank  me  for  telling  her/  said  the 
doctor. 

'  But  I  will  thank  you,  Mrs.  Sandford,'  I  said.  '  I  was 
"  the  dearest  little  schoolgirl." ' 

'  My  dear,  you  are  not  that  now,'  Mrs.  Sandford  said 
solemnly. 

1  It  all  comes  to  this,  Daisy,'  said  the  doctor.  'You 
are  a  psychological  puzzle  to  me.  For  the  matter  of  that, 
now  I  think  of  it,  you  always  were.  When  you  went  to 
visit  Molly  Skelton,  and  carried  rose-bushes  round  the 
country  in  your  pony  chaise,  just  as  much  as  now.  You 
are  not  the  same  Daisy,  however.' 

'  Yes  I  am  ;  just  the  same,'  I  said  earnestly. 

'Fancy  it!'  said  Mrs.  Sandford.  'My  dear,  you  do 
not  see  yourself;  that  is  clear.' 

'  I  would  like  to  do  the  same  things  again,'  I  insisted. 
But  that  nearly  choked  me.  For  a  vision  of  myself  in 
my  happy  pony  chaise  ;  the  free,  joyous  child  that  I  was, 
ignorant  of  soldiers  and  wars,  further  than  as  I  knew  my 
dear  Captain  Drummond ;  the  vision  of  the  Daisy  that 
once  was,  and  could  never  be  again  ;  went  nigh  to  shake 
all  my  composure  down.  The  emotion  came  with  a 
rush,  and  I  had  nearly  succumbed  to  it. 

'  Miss  Randolph  has  a  philosophy,'  the  doctor  went  on, 


DETAILED   FOR   DUTY.  107 

still  watching  me, — '  which  is  not  common  to  the  world, 
and  which  I  have  hitherto  in  vain  endeavoured  to 
fathom.  I  have  always  fancied  that  I  should  be  happier 
if  I  could  find  it  out.' 

'  Did  I  never  tell  you  what  it  was,  Dr.  Sandford  ?' 

*  Never — intelligibly.  You  will  excuse  me.  I  do  not 
mean  to  accuse  you,  but  myself.' 

'But  you  know  wThat  it  is,'  I  said  facing  him.  'My 
philosophy,  as  you  call  it.  It  is  only,  to  live  for  the 
other  world  instead  of  this.' 

'Why  not  live  for  this  world,  while  you  are  in  it, 
Daisy  ?' 

'  I  am  not  going  to  stay  in  it.' 

'I  hope,  very  long!'  said  the  doctor  seriously.  'And 
do  you  not  think  that  people  are  meant  to  enjoy  this 
world,  while  they  have  it  ?' 

'Yes,  when  they  can,'  I  answered;  remembering 
vividly  that  enjoyment  is  not  always  the  rule.  '  But  I 
enjoy  the  world  better  than  you  do,  Dr.  Sandford ;  be 
cause,  living  for  the  other,  I  take  the  good  of  both.  And 
if  this  fails  at  any  time,  the  other — cannot.' 

Dr.  Sandford's  blue  eye  went  as  deep  into  mine,  and 
into  me,  I  think,  as  it  could ;  and  he  did  not  look  satisfied. 

The  preparations  for  our  journey  were  pressed  with  a 
diligence  that  admitted  of  no  delay,  all  that  day  and  the 
next.  I  was  quietly  busy  too,  thinking  that  it  did  not 
matter ;  that  the  time  must  come,  and  as  well  then  as  ever. 

I  had  miscalculated  my  strength,  or  my  weakness.  Or 
perhaps  the  emotional  part  of  our  nature  is  never  to  be 
depended  on.  That  dim  morning  of  our  early  departure 
is  fixed  in  my  memory  as  one  of  the  most  heart-sinking 
times  my  heart  ever  knew.  My  companions  were  brisk 
and  bright,  in  travelling  mood,  taking  cars  and  porters 
and  ticket  offices  and  crowds,  as  pleasant  concomitants 
of  a  pleasant  affair.  Glad  to  get  away  from  "Washing- 


108  DAISY. 

ton,  both  of  them.  And  I,  alone  in  my  heart,  knew 
what  a  thread  was  breaking  for  me ;  knew  that  Thorold's 
path  and  mine  were  starting  from  that  point  upon  diver 
gent  lines,  which  would  grow  but  further  and  further  apart 
every  day.  Until  that  moment  I  had  not  realized  what 
it  would  be,  to  leave  the  neighbourhood  of  his  work  and 
his  danger,  and  cut  off  all  but  the  most  distant  and  pre 
carious  communication  between  him  and  me;  what  it 
would  be,  too,  to  him,  to  know  that  I  was  gone.  It  did 
seem  then  for  a  minute  as  if  I  could  not  go ;  as  if  I  must, 
as  necessity,  remain  within  hailing  distance  of  him,  and 
at  the  headquarters  of  information.  But  there  was 
another  '  must,'  stronger  than  mine ;  I  was  seated  in  the 
car,  the  whistle  blew  its  mockery  of  me;  and  the  slow 
movement  which  immediately  followed  was  the  snapping 
of  the  thread, — the  parting  of  the  lines.  It  was  something 
that  no  human  action  could  stay  or  avert  now ;  and  the 
gentle  motion  soon  grew  to  a  whirl  of  speed  which  bore 
me  relentlessly  away.  The  slow  pang  of  that  first  stir 
of  the  cars,  I  can  feel  yet. 

It  was  a  dumb  pain  at  my  heart  all  day.  I  could  not 
understand  myself.  For  several  days  I  had  been  quiet 
and  prepared,  I  thought,  and  submissive ;  now  to-day  all 
was  disorder ;  no  preparedness ;  no  quiet.  Instead  were 
heartaches  and  regrets  and  wild  wishes ;  sometimes  in  dull 
and  steady  force,  like  a  still  rain  storm ;  and  sometimes 
sweeping  over  me  with  the  fury  of  a  tempestuous  blast. 
I  had  not  strength  to  resist ;  my  utmost  was  to  keep  a 
calm  front  before  my  friends.  I  did  that,  I  think.  But 
what  torture  is  it  not,  to  be  obliged  to  hear  and  answer 
all  manner  of  trifling  words,  to  enter  into  every  trivial 
thought,  of  people  at  ease  around  one,  when  the  heart  is 
bending  and  bowing  under  its  life  burden ;  to  be  obliged 
to  count  the  pebbles  in  the  way,  when  one  is  staggering 
to  keep  one's  footing  at  all.  Yes,  and  one  must  answer 


DETAILED   FOR   DUTY.  109 

with  a  disengaged  face,  and  one  must  smile  with  ready 
lips,  and  attention  must  not  wander,  and  self-absorption 
for  a  minute  cannot  be  allowed.  Perhaps  it  was  good 
for  me. 

My  companions  attended  to  me  well,  so  that  I  got  no 
respite  all  day.  Not  till  night,  when  I  reached  my  room ; 
and  when  I  had  respite,  I  found  no  rest.  It  was  great 
relief  to  put  my  head  down  without  fear  lest  somebody 
should  ask  me  if  it  ached ;  but  all  night  long  I  struggled 
with  the  pain  that  had  fought  me  all  day.  The  next 
morning  I  went  to  find  Miss  Cardigan.  To  my  great  dis 
appointment  she  was  not  at  home ;  and  would  not  be  at 
home,  I  was  told,  under  a  week. 

I  passed  slowly  in,  over  the  familiar  stones  of  the  mar 
ble  floor,  in  through  the  empty  rooms,  to  the  innermost 
one  which  opened  upon  the  little  conservatory.  That 
too  was  stripped  of  its  beauties ;  most  of  the  plants  were 
set  out  in  the  open  ground,  and  the  scaffolding  steps  were 
bare.  I  turned  my  back  upon  the  glass  door,  which  had 
been  for  me  the  door  to  so  much  sweetness,  and  sat 
down  to  think.  Not  only  sweetness.  How  strange  it 
was!  From  Miss  Cardigan's  flowers,  the  connecting 
links  led  on  straight  to  all  my  sorrow  and  heartache  of 
the  present  and  perhaps  of  many  future  days.  They  had 
led  me  here ;  and  here  Mr.  Thorold  had  said  words  to 
me  that  had  bound  him  and  me  together  for  the  rest  of 
our  lives,  and  made  his  welfare  my  welfare.  And  now, 
he  was  in  the  shock  of  battlefields ;  and  I — afar  off — 
must  watch  and  listen.  And  I  could  not  be  near  and 
watch.  I  must  be  where  even  good  news  would  be  no 
news,  except  of  the  past ;  where  nobody  would  speak  to 
me  of  Mr.  Thorold,  and  where  I  could  not  speak  of  him 
to  anybody.  I  was  sure,  the  more  I  thought  of  it,  that 
the  only  possible  chance  for  a  good  issue  to  our  engage 
ment,  would  be  to  wait  until  the  war  should  be  over ;  and 

VOL.  II. — 10 


110  DAISY. 

if  he  persisted  in  his  determination  of  speaking  to  my 
father  and  mother  before  such  a  favourable  conjuncture, 
the  end  would  be  only  disaster.  I  somewhat  hoped,  that 
the  pressure  of  active  duty  on  his  part,  or  some  happy 
negligence  of  post-office  officials,  or  other  contingency, 
might  hinder  such  a  letter  as  he  had  threatened  from 
coming  to  my  father's  hands  at  present. 

Meanwhile,  in  Miss  Cardigan's  little  room,  I  struggled 
for  a  right  mind.  If  I  was  sorrowful,  I  told  myself,  I 
was  also  glad.  If  I  pitied  myself  a  little  for  all  that 
had  happened,  it  was  also  true  that  I  would  not  have  un 
done  it — that  is,  my  part  in  it, — for  the  world.  I  would 
rather  belong  to  Mr.  Thorold,  even  through  all  this  pain, 
than  be  nothing  to  him  and  have  him  nothing  to  me. 
Yes,  even  going  away  on  my  distant  journey  to  Europe, 
the  knowledge  of  his  love  was  a  richer  jewel  in  my 
heart  than  any  other  of  earth's  jewels  that  I  carried.  So 
what  was  I  crying  about? 

I  washed  away  some  of  the  soreness  of  the  days  past 
in  those  tears.  And  then  I  came  quietly  back  to  my  po 
sition;  willing  that  God  should  dispose  of  me  and  do 
with  me  what  he  pleased ;  send  me  away  or  bring  me 
home;  give  or  take  from  me.  At  least  so  far  I  was  will 
ing,  that  I  gave  up  all  care-taking  and  ceased  to  struggle. 
My  mood  grew  even  sunshiny  as  I  walked  back  to  the 
hotel  where  we  were  all  stationed.  Hope  began  to  exe 
cute  little  dances  before  me. 

The  doctor  was  busy  now,  I  understood,  with  trying  to 
find  some  party  with  whom  I  might  make  the  journey  to 
Switzerland.  Mrs.  Sand  ford  was  eager  to  get  back  to 
Melbourne,  or  its  neighbourhood;  I  always  called  the 
whole  region  by  that  name.  How  I  wished  I  could  be 
allowed  to  go  with  her,  and  wait  there  till  an  opportunity 
offered  for  my  further  journey!  But  such  were  not  the 
views  of  my  guardian. 


DETAILED  FOR  DUTY.  Ill 

*  Here's  devotion!'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sandford  as  I  came 
in  to  tea  one  evening.     'My  dear,  he  says  he  will  go  with 
you  himself.' 

*  Where?  who?'  I  asked. 

'  Why  Grant,  to  be  sure.  He  says  he  will  go  with  you 
himself,  and  then  his  mind  will  be  easy.' 

'How  can  he?'  I  said.  'An  army  surgeon, — how  can 
he  get  away?' 

'Yes,  and  in  war-time,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford.  'But  the 
truth  is,  that  he  needs  to  get  away,  he  says ;  he  is  not  fit 
for  duty;  and  the  voyage  over  and  back  will  just  set 
him  up.  I  think  it  is  a  capital  plan,  for  my  part.  He 
won't  be  gone  any  length  of  time,  you  know ;  and  indeed 
he  must  not;  he  will  just  run  across  and  put  you  in  the 
hands  of  your  friends ;  and  so  your  passage  is  engaged, 
Daisy,  in  the  "Persia."  I  only  wish  I  was  going  along, 
but  I  can't.  I  advise  you  never  to  marry  Grant.  It  ties 
one  up  terribly.' 

'It  does  not  tie  you  very  close,'  the  doctor  answered. 

'When  does  the  "Persia"  go?'     I  asked. 

'Yes  indeed;  that  is  a  question,'  said  Mrs.  Sandford. 
'Just  think — she  sails  Saturday,  and  this  is  Thursday. 
Only  one  single  day  for  you,  Daisy ;  but  after  all,  it  is 
best  so.  You  can  be  ready  just  as  well,  and  the  sooner 
you  are  off  now  the  better.  I  shall  miss  you  dreadfully, 
though.' 

I  felt  my  cheeks  turn  cold,  and  I  busied  myself  with 
my  cup  of  tea. 

'You  are  not  so  eager  to  be  off,  Miss  Randolph,  as  my 
good  sister  is  to  have  you,'  I  heard  the  doctor  say. 

'No,  not  quite.  I  would  like  better  to  go  if  all  this- 
trouble  in  the  country  were  ended.' 

'That  would  be  to  wait  some  time,  I  am  afraid,'  said 
the  doctor,  helping  himself  to  a  piece  of  toast.  And  I 
do  not  know  what  in  his  motion  and  his  manner  of  speech 


112  DAISY. 

conveyed  to  me  the  notion  that  he  was  glad  I  could  not 
wait.  And,  my  mother's  child  though  I  was,  I  could  not 
thwart  him  this  time. 

1  It  is  a  good  time  to  be  away,  /think,'  said  Mrs.  Sand- 
ford.  '  I'd  keep  the  news  from  her,  Grant,  if  I  were  you. 
She  sits  and  studies  the  papers  as  if  her  life  were  in  them/ 

'  There  will  be  no  news  on  board  the  steamer,'  said  the 
doctor. 

Yes,  I  knew  that.  The  very  beginning  of  my  journey 
was  to  cut  me  off  from  tidings.  How  should  I  get  them 
in  Switzerland  ?  And  I  must  go  too  without  seeing  Miss 
Cardigan.  Well,  I  thought,  nothing  can  take  my  best 
Friend  from  me. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


DK.  SANDFOKD  and  I  stood  together  on  the  deck  of 
the  steamer,  looking  at  the  lessening  shore. ;  I  was  afraid 
the  doctor  should  see  how  I  looked,  yet  I  could  not  turn 
my  eyes  from  it.  I  had  given  up  the  care  of  myself;  I 
could  bear  to  see  America  fading  out  of  my  sight ;  yet  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  I  left  Daisy  and  her  life  there,  and  as 
if  I  must  be  like  a  wandering  spirit  from  another  world 
till  I  should  come  back  to  those  shores  again.  I  would 
minister  to  my  father  and  mother,  but  nobody  would 
minister  to  me.  And  I  thought  it  was  very  likely  very 
good  for  me.  Maybe  I  was  in  danger  of  growing  selfish 
and  of  forgetting  my  work  and  all  happiness  except  my 
own  and  Thorold's.  I  could  do  nothing  for  either  of 
those  now ;  nothing  actively.  But  I  called  myself  up  as 
soon  as  that  thought  passed  through  me.  I  could  always 
pray ;  and  I  could  be  quiet  and  trust ;  and  1  could  be 
full  of  faith,  hope  and  love ;  and  anybody  with  those  is 
not  unhappy.  And  God  is  with  his  people ;  and  he  can 
feed  them  in  a  desert.  And  with  that,  I  went  down  to 
my  stateroom,  to  sob  my  heart  out.  Not  altogether  in 
sorrow,  or  I  think  I  should  not  have  shed  a  tear ;  but 
with  that  sense  of  joy  and  riches  in  the  midst  of  trial ;  the 
feeling  of  care  that  was  over  my  helplessness,  and  hope 
that  could  never  die  nor  be  disappointed  in  spite  of  the 
many  hopes  that  fail. 

After  that,  my  voyage  was  pleasant,  as  every  voyage 
10  •*  H  113 


114  DAISY. 

or  journey  is  when  one  goes  in  the  Lord's  hand  and  with 
him  for  a  companion.  I  had  no  news,  as  the  doctor  had 
said,  and  I  laid  down  all  the  matter  of  the  war ;  though 
I  was  obliged  to  hear  it  talked  of  very  much  and  in  a 
way  that  was  often  extremely  hard  to  bear.  The  English 
people  on  board  seemed  to  think  that  Americans  had  no 
feeling  on  the  subject  of  th.eir  country,  or  no  country  to 
feel  about.  Certainly  they  shewed  no  respect  for  mine ; 
and  though  Dr.  Sandford  and  one  or  two  other  gentlemen 
could  and  did  answer  their  words  well  and  cogently,  and 
there  was  satisfaction  in  that ;  yet  it  was  a  warfare  I  did 
not  choose  to  enter  into  unless  good  breeding  could  be 
a  defence  on  both  sides.  They  abused  Mr.  Lincoln ;  how 
they  abused  him !  they  have  learned  better  since.  They 
abused  republics  in  general,  rejoicing  openly  in  the  ruin 
they  affected  to  see  before  ours.  Yes,  the  United  States 
of  America  and  their  boasted  Constitution  were  a  vast 
bubble — no  solidity — rather  a  collection  of  bubbles, 
which  would  go  to  pieces  by  their  own  contact.  Spe 
cially  the  weight  of  dislike  and  maligning  fell  on  the 
Northern  portion  of  the  country ;  sympathy  was  with  the 
South.  These  natives  of  the  free  British  Isles  were  un 
mistakably  disposed  to  cheer  and  help  on  a  nation  of 
oppressors,,  and  wished  them  success.  It  was  some  time 
before  I  could  understand  such  an  anomaly;  at  last  I 
saw  that  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  was  at  work, 
and  I  forgave  as  natural,  what  I  could  not  admire  as 
noble. 

This  element  in  our  little  society  troubled  somewhat 
my  enjoyment  of  the  voyage.  I  had  some  patriotic 
nerves,  if  I  was  an  American ;  and  every  one  of  them 
was  often  tingling  with  disagreeable  irritation.  Besides, 
ill-breeding  is  of  itself  always  disagreeable  enough,  and 
here  was  ill-breeding  in  well-bred  people, — worst  of  all. 
And  I  had  my  own  private  reasons  for  annoyance.  A 


DAISY'S  POST.  115 

favourite  theme  with  the  company  was  the  want  of  sol 
diers  or  generals  at  the  North,  and  the  impossibility  that 
a  set  of  mechanics  and  tradesmen,  who  knew  only  how 
to  make  money  and  keep  it,  should  be  able  in  chivalrous 
and  gentlemanly  exercises  to  cope  with  the  Southern 
cavaliers,  who  were  accustomed  to  sword  and  pistol  and 
the  use  of  them  from  their  youth  up.  Bull  Run,  they 
said,  shewed  what  the  consequence  must  always  be,  of  a 
conflict  between  soldiers  with  the  martial  spirit  and  sol 
diers  without  it.  It  would  be  much  better  and  cheaper 
for  the  North  to  succumb  at  once.  I  had  Southern  pre 
judice  enough  to  believe  there  might  be  a  good  deal  of 
truth  in  this,  but  I  could  not  bear  to  hear  it  or  to  think 
it ;  for  besides  the  question  of  country  and  right,  the  ruin 
of  the  North  would  be  disaster  to  Mr.  Thoiold  and  me. 
I  shunned  at  last  all  conversation  with  our  English  com 
panions,  as  far  as  I  could,  and  bent  my  thoughts  forward 
to  the  joyful  meeting  which  lay  before  iae  with  father 
and  mother  and  brother.  Brighter  and  brighter  the 
prospect  grew,  as  each  day  brought  it  nearer ;  and  I  sat 
sometimes  by  the  hour  looking  over  the  waters  and  resting 
my  heart  in  the  hope  of  that  meeting. 

'Almost  in,  Miss  Randolph,'  said  the  doctor,  coming 
to  my  side  one  of  those  times. 

I  brought  my  eyes  from  the  dancing  sea,  and  answered 

'You  are  glad.' 

'Very  glad.' 

'  What  route  will  you  take,  when  we  get  to  land  ?' 

'  The  shortest/ 

'  You  do  not  wish  to  see  anything  by  the  way  ?' 

'  I  can  see  enough,  after  I  get  to  them,'  I  answered. 

'You  are  at  a  happy  time  of  life!'  the  doctor  said  after 
a  pause. 

'  Are  you  past  it,  Dr.  Sandford  ?'  I  asked,  replying,  I 
think,  to  something  in  the  tones  of  his  voice. 


DAISY. 

'I  do  not  know.  I  think,  yes.  Cologne  cathedral 
will  never  be  to  me  what  it  will  be  to  you.' 

'  What  will  it  be  to  me  ?' 

'I  wish  you  would  tell  me,  when  you  see  it.' 

'  Does  it  lie  in  our  route  ?'  I  asked  somewhat  eagerly. 

'  It  can — if  you  choose.' 

'  But  I  should  not  want  to  stop  to  look  at  it,'  I  said ; 
*  and  I  could  not  see  it  without  stopping,  I  suppose.' 

'  I  suppose  not.  Well,  we  will  push  forward  as  fast  as 
possible.  To  Lausanne,  is  it?' 

*  They  were  at  Lausanne.  They  were  talking  of  going 
to  Lucerne.' 

1  To  stay?' 

'  For  some  time,  I  think.  Papa  was  getting  tired  of 
Lausanne.  We  shall  know  as  soon  as  we  reach  our 
port.' 

'  Wonderful  things  will  crowd  upon  you  now,  Daisy,' 
the  doctor  said  meditatively.  'And  you  are  as  ready 
for  them  as  ever.' 

'  Don't  they  crowd  upon  everybody  ?'  I  said,  remem 
bering  what  strange  ones  life  had  lately  brought  to 
me. 

'Everybody  does  not  see  them — does  not  know  it. 
You  have  this  peculiarity,  that  you  will  not  fail  to  note 
every  one  that  comes  within  your  knowledge.  Europe 
will  be  a  wonder  gallery  to  you.  And  life,  perhaps.' 

'  O,  life  is  now,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

He  had  been  looking  very  grave.  He  smiled  at  me 
then,  one  of  his  bright,  winsome  smiles  that  the  child 
Daisy  used  to  get.  It  made  my  heart  sore  with  longing 
for  him,  and  sorrow. 

'  Isn't  it  a  wonder,  that  I  live,  and  that  I  shall  live 
for  ever  ?'  I  said.  '  That  this  world  is  only  the  portal  to 
glory  ?  Isn't  it  a  wonder,  that  there  is  a  highway  from 
these  low  grounds  to  Heaven's  court,  and  that  the  gates 


DAISY'S  POST.  117 

of  brass  and  bars  of  iron  that  stopped  the  wuy,  are 
broken  asunder  ?  Isn't  it  a  wonder,  that  the  Prince  of 
Heaven  came  down  to  open  the  way  and  to  shew  it  to 
us  ?  and  is  there  any  wonder  so  great,  as  that,  after  this, 
any  mortal  should  refuse  to  walk  that  way  ?' 

'Grant  Sandford,  to  wit!'  said  the  doctor  with  an  odd 
expression,  something  between  pleased  and  displeased. 
*  I  am  afraid,  Daisy,  he  would  want  an  angel  to  go  before 
him  after  all.' 

I  remember  this  little  talk  well,  for  it  puzzled  me  and 
did  not  seem  like  Dr.  Sandford.  I  remember  nothing 
else  of  any  interest  till  we  came  to  Switzerland  and  I  was 
near  my  journey's  end.  We  had  pushed  on,  sometimes 
by  night  and  day;  stopping  only  for  necessary  meals 
and  refreshment.  I  wanted  no  delay.  When  we  reached 
the  glories  of  the  Swiss  mountains,  even  yet  distant,  my 
mood  oddly  changed,  and  I  was  no  longer  in  a  hurry. 
My  life,  I  knew,  would  take  a  new  turn,  in  among  those 
mountains  somewhere ;  and  it  might  not,  I  had  a  shrewd 
suspicion  that  it  would  not,  be  a  turn  for  my  ease  and 
comfort ;  and  even  while  I  was  as  eager  as  ever  to  see 
my  father  and  mother,  at  the  same  time  I  was  willing  to 
take  the  last  steps  of  the  way  more  slowly,  and  enjoy 
what  I  had  and  what  I  hoped  for  together,  before  reality 
should  displace  anticipation.  This  is  my  understanding 
of  the  mood  as  I  look  back  to  it ;  at  the  time  I  did  not 
reason,  but  only  was  conscious  of  being  ready  to  linger 
and  willing  to  lose  nothing  of  novelty  and  beauty  on  my 
way.  However,  lingering  was  not  possible.  By  one 
conveyance  and  another  we  pushed  our  way  on,  till 
Lucerne,  our  place  of  destination,  was  reached. 

I  saw  nothing  in  the  town,  almost  literally,  while  we 
were  making  our  way  through  its  streets.  I  was  in  a 
breathless  state ;  my  senses  could  not  play,  or  my  mind 
could  receive  no  impression  from  them.  It  was  disap- 


DAISY. 

pointment  and  relief  too,  when  coming  to  the  house  where 
my  father  and  mother  lived,  we  were  told  that  the  family 
were  gone  out  of  town  on  some  excursion  and  would  not 
be  back  till  evening.  The  servants  told  us.  This  was 
no  hotel,  but  a  nice  little  private  house  which  my  father 
had  hired  and  where  he  and  my  mother  were  living  en 
tirely  at  home. 

I  knew  I  was  at  home,  as  my  feet  pressed  the  stairs 
going  up  to  the  little  drawing-room.  '  At  home.'  Not 
since  we  left  Melbourne  had  the  exquisite  sensation  come 
over  me.  It  came  now  like  a  subtle  perfume,  pervading 
and  surrounding  everything.  My  eyes  filled  with  tears 
of  great  joy,  as  I  mounted  the  stairs.  I  would  not  let 
Dr.  Sandford  see  them.  He,  I  knew,  felt  like  anything 
but  crying  for  joy.  He  was  certainly  very  honestly  fond 
of  me  and  of  my  company,  and  I  was  grateful  for  it. 

The  servant  led  us  to  a  little  drawing-room,  out  of 
which  another  opened ;  over  the  simple  furniture  of 
which  my  mother's  hand  had  thrown  a  spell  of  grace. 
And  luxurious  enjoyment  too;  that  belonged  to  her.  A 
soft  rug  or  two  lay  here  and  there ;  a  shawl  of  beautiful 
colour  had  fallen  upon  a  chair-back ;  pictures  hung  on 
the  walls,  one  stood  on  an  easel  in  a  corner ;  bits  of  statu 
ary,  bronzes,  wood-carvings,  trifles  of  art,  mosaics,  en 
gravings,  were  everywhere;  and  my  mother's  presence 
was  felt  in  the  harmony  which  subdued  and  united  all 
these  in  one  delicious  effect.  My  mother  had  almost  an 
Oriental  eye  for  colour  and  harmony.  It  was  like  seeing 
a  bit  of  her,  to  be  in  her  room.  I  lost  my  head  for  a 
moment,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor;  then  I 
turned  to  Dr.  Sandford. 

1  Now  you  are  happy/  he  said,  extending  his  hand — 
'and  I  will  leave  you.' 

'No, 'Dr.  Sandford — you  will  sit  down  and  be  happy 
too.' 


DAISY'S  POST.  119 

'You  could  command  me  to  sit  down,  undoubtedly; 
but  I  am  afraid  my  happiness  is  beyond  your  power/ 

'I  wish  it  was  not!'  I  said  earnestly.  'You  have  been 
very  good  to  me,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

His  face  flushed  a  little  and  paled,  and  the  eyes  which 
were  so  fond  of  reading  other  people's  seemed  now  to  shun 
being  read.  I  could  not  understand  his  expression,  but 
it  troubled  me. 

'Happiness  is  always  beyond  other  people's  power,'  I 
said ; — *  but  not  beyond  one's  own.' 

'That's  your  con-founded  theory!'  he  answered,  bring 
ing  the  word  out  very  gingerly  and  with  a  little  laugh. 
'  I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons,  Daisy ;  but  a  slight  expres 
sion  of  indignation  was  an  unavoidable  indulgence  just 
then.  You  would  make  every  one  responsible  for  all  the 
troubles  that  come  upon  him!' 

'No — only  for  their  effect  upon  his  happiness/  I 
ventured,  doubtfully. 

'You  think  the  effect  of  troubles  upon  happiness  is 
then  optional!' — he  said,  with  a  humorous  expression  so 
cool  and  shrewd  that  I  could  not  forbear  laughing. 

'  I  do  not  mean  exactly  that.' 

'  Your  words  were  well  chosen  to  produce  that  impres 
sion.' 

'No,  Dr.  Sandford — yes,  perhaps  they  were; — but  the 
real  truth  is,  that  we  may  have  a  happiness  that  is  be 
yond  the  reach  of  trouble.  So  much  is  optional.' 

'With  Daisy  Eandolph,'  said  the  doctor.  'For  the 
rest  of  the  world,  a  brown  study  will  never  be  a  golden 
reflection.'  He  held  out  his  hand  as  he  spoke. 

'But  are  you  going?'  I  said; — 'before  my  father  and 
mother  come  home?' 

'I  will  call  before  I  leave  Lucerne.' 

'How  soon  do  you  expect  to  do  that?' 

'  Immediately,  Daisy ;  to-morrow.     I  must  hasten  back 


120  DAISY. 

to  my  post,  you  know;  before  there  is  another  Bull  Hun, 
if  possible.  It  is  very  good  that  you  are  out  of  the  way 
of  such  things,'  he  said,  eyeing  me  earnestly.  'The  very 
mention  of  them — do  you  know  what  it  does?' 

'  It  gives  me  a  great  feeling  of  pain,  I  know,'  I  said, 
trying  to  rally. 

'  It  does  that,  I  see.  I  did  not  know  the  power  of  im 
agination  was  so  strong  in  you.  I  thought  you  were 
rather  a  literalist.' 

'  And  I  think  I  am,'  I  answered  as  calmly  as  I  could. 
'  It  does  not  require  much  imagination.  It  did  not,  when 
I  was  in  Washington.' 

'  It  does  not  now,'  said  the  doctor ;  '  for  your  cheeks 
have  not  got  back  their  colour  yet.  What  banished  it, 
Daisy?' 

It  was  the  old  tone  and  look  I  used  to  meet  in  my 
childhood,  and  to  which  I  always  then  rendered  obedi 
ence.  For  an  instant  the  spell  was  upon  me  now ;  then 
I  threw  it  off,  shook  hands  with  the  doctor  and  parted 
from  him  with  a  bow  and  smile  which  told  him  nothing. 
And  he  succumbed  in  his  turn;  made  me  a  profound 
reverence  and  left  the  room. 

My  first  feeling  was  of  gladness  that  he  was  gone. 
My  next  was,  the  sense  that  I  was  under  my  natural 
guardians  once  more.  I  felt  it  with  a  thrill  of  delight, 
even  though  I  had  a  full  consciousness  that  I  was  going 
to  be  far  less  my  own  mistress  than  for  some  time  I  had 
been  accustomed  to  find  myself.  Dr.  Sandford  rather 
took  laws  from  me,  in  most  things.  This  however  did  not 
give  me  much  concern.  I  went  round  the  rooms  to  quiet 
myself,  for  I  was  growing  more  and  more  excited.  I 
went  studying  one  by  one  the  objects  in  the  little  home 
museum,  for  such  those  drawing-rooms  were  to  me.  I 
read,  not  natural  history  but  family  history  in  them; 
here  my  father's  hand  had  been,  here  my  mother's,  leav- 


DAISY'S  POST.  121 

ing  some  token  of  study,  or  luxury,  or  art,  or  feeling. 
A  very  handsome  meerschaum  seemed  to  give  also  a  hint 
of  my  brother's  presence.  The  home  review  did  not 
quiet  me ;  I  found  it  would  not  do ;  I  went  to  the  win 
dow.  And  there  I  sat  down  immediately,  to  hear  all 
that  nature  said  to  me ;  as  once  Miss  Cardigan's  flowers. 
I  had  expected  to  see  the  town ;  and  it  was  part  of  the 
town  no  doubt  that  stretched  away  before  me,  but  it  had 
rather  the  beauty  of  the  country.  There  was  nothing 
regular  in  streets  or  buildings,  nor  compact ;  the  houses 
scattered  away  down  the  hill,  standing  here  and  there, 
alone  and  in  groups,  with  fields  or  pieces  of  fields  inter 
mingling.  Pretty  houses,  with  quaint  dormer  windows 
and  high  sloping  roofs.  We  were  on  a  height,  I  found, 
from  which  the  eye  went  down  delightfully  over  this  bit 
of  the  rambling  old  town.  A  courtyard,  with  grass  and 
young  trees,  was  the  first  thing  next  the  house  on  this 
side ;  which  I  found  was  not  the  front ;  then  the  ground 
fell  sharply,  and  most  of  the  houses  stood  upon  a  level 
below  bordering  the  lake.  A  stretch  of  the  lake  lay 
there,  smooth,  still,  bearing  the  reflection  of  some  houses 
on  its  opposite  edge ;  where  softened  under  a  misty  at 
mosphere  another  little  town  seemed  to  rest  on  a  rising 
bank.  And  then,  just  behind  it,  rose  the  mountain,  look 
ing  down  upon  lake  and  towns  as  if  to  forbid  a  thought 
of  foolishness  in  any  one  who  should  ever  live  there.  So, 
in  its  beautiful  gravity,  Mont  Pilatte  seemed  to  me,  then 
and  always.  Are  not  mountains  always  witnesses  for 
God  ?  This  first  time  I  saw  it,  a  misty  cloud  had  swept 
across  the  breast  of  the  mountain  and  hid  part  of  the 
outline ;  but  the  head  lifted  itself  in  sunlight  just  above 
the  veiling  cloud,  and  looked  down  in  unspeakable  maj 
esty  upon  the  lower  world.  Always  my  eyes  went  back 
to  that  wonderful  mountain  head;  then  fell  to  the  placid 
^ake  and  the  little  town  sleeping  in  misty  sunlight  on  its 

VOL.  II.— 11 


122  DAISY. 

further  border ;  then  caught  the  sharp  pointed  towers  of 
a  church  or  cathedral  close  by  at  my  left  hand,  just 
within  my  picture ;  I  could  not  see  the  whole  church ;  then 
back  to  the  soft  veiled  mountain.  A  more  picturesque 
combination  never  went  into  a  view.  I  sat  still  in  a 
trance  of  pleasure,  only  my  eyes  moving  slowly  from 
point  to  point,  and  my  heart  and  soul  listening  to  the 
hidden  melodies  which  in  nature's  great  halls  are  always 
sounding.  I  do  believe,  for  the  matter  of  that,  they  are 
always  sounding  in  nature's  least  chambers  as  well ;  but 
there  is  the  tinkle  of  a  silver  bell,  and  there  is  the  thun 
der  of  the  great  organ.  At  any  rate  I  was  quieted,  com 
forted,  soothed,  and  entirely  myself  again,  by  the  time  I 
had  listened  to  Mont  Pilatte  for  a  couple  of  hours. 

The  day  wore  on,  and  the  lights  changed,  and  the 
cloud  deepened  on  the  mountain.  The  lights  had  not 
begun  to  fade  yet,  though  it  was  the  time  of  long  shadows, 
when  a  little  bustle  below  and  steps  on  the  stairs  drew 
me  away  from  the  window  and  brought  me  to  my  feet ; 
but  I  stood  still.  The  first  one  was  mamma,  and  her  first 
word  of  course  broke  the  spell  under  which  I  had  been 
standing  and  brought  me  into  her  arms.  And  that  word 
I  pondered  many  a  time  afterwards.  It  was  simply, 
'  Why,  Daisy !' — but  the  letters  put  together  tell  nothing 
of  what  was  in  the  expression.  Pleasure  and  affection 
there  were,  of  course ;  and  there  was  something  beside, 
•which  I  could  not  help  thinking  gave  token  of  gratified 
surprise.  What  should  have  excited  it  I  do  not  know, 
unless  it  were  that  my  appearance  pleased  her  better  than 
she  had  expected.  It  was  not  surprise  at  my  being  there, 
for  the  servants  had  told  of  that.  My  father,  who  was 
next,  said  exactly  the  same  words ;  but  his  '  Why,  Dai 
sy  !'  had  an  altogether  different  expression.  I  flung  my 
self  into  his  arms,  and  then  almost  broke  my  heart  with 
the  thought  that  I  had  been  so  long  out  of  them.  My 


DAISY'S  POST.  123 

\ 

father  pressed  me  very  close,  and  kept  very  still.  I  felt 
my  mother  touch  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  heard  her  tell 
rne  not  to  be  so  excited ;  but  I  could  not  mind  her.  And 
papa,  sitting  down,  kept  me  in  his  arms  and  held  me 
fast  and  kissed  me,  and  I  sobbed  myself  into  content. 

'  Is  that  Daisy  ?'  said  mamma.  I  was  sitting  on  papa's 
knee  yet.  I  looked  up  at  her.  She  was  standing  be 
side  us. 

'Doesn't  she  look  like  it?'  my  father  said  fondly, 
stroking  my  hair. 

'  She  does  not  act  like  it,'  said  my  mother, 

But  I  hid  my  face  in  papa's  neck  at  that,  and  he  kissed 
me  again. 

'  Don't  you  mean  to  speak  to  anybody  else  ?'  said 
mamma,  with  an  amused  voice. 

'  Nobody  else  has  any  right,'  said  papa.  I  looked  up 
however,  eagerly,  and  saw  what  I  could  only  guess  was 
Ransom,  he  had  so  grown  and  changed.  He  was  looking 
curious  and  pleased.  I  got  up  to  salute  him. 

'Why,  Daisy!'  said  he,  returning  my  embrace  with 
more  new  than  old  emotion  as  it  seemed  to  me, — '  you 
are  a  sister  of  whom  a  fellow  may  be  proud.' 

'  Can't  you  say  as  much  for  him,  Daisy  ?'  said  my 
mother. 

•'As  far  as  looks  go — '  I  answered  slowly,  surveying 
him.  He  was  excessively  handsome,  and  his  mother's 
own  boy  in  grace  of  person  and  manner.  I  could  see 
that  in  the  first  moment. 

'  As  far  as  looks  go' — my  mother  repeated.  *  That  is 
like  Daisy.  Is  it  the  very  same  Daisy  ?' 

I  looked  up  at  her,  and  they  looked  at  me.  Oddly 
enough,  we  were  all  silent.  Had  I  changed  so  much  ? 

'  Mamma,  there  is  the  difference  between  ten  and  sev 
enteen,'  I  said.  '  I  don't  think  there  is  much  other.' 

'And  between  formed  and  unformed,'  said  my  brother 


124  DAISY. 

Ransom ;  for  ray  father  and  mother  were  still  silent,  and 
I  could  hardly  bear  to  meet  their  eyes. 

4  What  is  formed,  and  what  is  unformed  ?'  I  asked, 
trying  to  make  it  a  light  question. 

^My  opinion  is  not  unformed/  said  Ransom, — 'and 
your  destiny  is — formed.' 

'  Papa,'  said  I,  '  Ransom  is  very  quick  in  deciding 
upon  my  destiny.'  But  with  that  look  into  each  other's 
eyes,  Ransom's  words  were  forgotten ;  my  father  clapped 
me  in  a  fresh  fond  embrace  and  my  head  went  down  upon 
his  shoulder  again.  And  we  were  all  still.  Words  are 
nothing  at  such  times.  I  think  one  rather  speaks  light 
words,  if  any ;  thoughts  are  too  deep  to  come  out.  At 
last  my  mother  remarked  that  our  toilettes  were  among 
the  unformed  things,  and  suggested  that  we  should  go  to 
our  rooms  for  a  little  while  before  dinner.  I  got  up  from 
papa's  knee  and  followed  mamma ;  and  passing  Ransom 
with  a  smile,  he  suddenly  clasped  me  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  me. 

'  I  am  proud  of  you,  Daisy,'  he  whispered. 

Arrived  in  mamma's  room,  her  tenderness  came  out 
after  her  own  fashion.  She  examined  me;  her  hands' 
touched  me  caressingly ;  she  helped  me  to  dress,  although 
her  maid  was  at  hand. 

'  You  did  not  tell  me  you  had  such  beautiful  hair,' 
she  said,  when  I  had  unbound  it  to  put  it  in  order. 

'  Mamma !'  I  laughed.     '  Why  should  I  ?' 

'  And  there  are  -a  great  many  other  things  you  have 
not  told  me,'  she  went  on.  I  had  to  control  myself  to 
prevent  a  start,  though  her  words  meant  nothing. 

'  Of  course,  mamma,'  I  answered. 

'  Yes ;  you  could  hardly  have  been  expected  to  give  me 
a  catalogue  raisonne*  of  your  advantages.  Do  you  know 
them  yourself,  Daisy  ?' 

'Mamma, — I  suppose  I  know  some  of  them.' 


DAISY'S  POST.  125 

'  Do  you  know,  for  instance,  that  your  skin  is  exquisite, 
in  colour  and  texture  ?' 

*  Mrs.  Sandford  used  to  tell  me  so,'  I  said. 

My  mother  drew  the  tips  of  her  fingers  over  my  cheek. 

*  And  now,  at  my  saying  that,  comes  a  little  rose  hue 
here,  as  delicate  as  the  inside  of  a  shell.     But  you  have 
lost  all  the  look  of  delicate  condition,  Daisy ;  this  is  the 
colour  of  perfect  health.' 

'  Dr.  Sandford  has  taken  care  of  me,  mamma.' 

'Your  father  trusted  a  great  deal  to  Dr.  Sandford. 
Do  you  think  his  trust  was  well  placed  ?' 

'Nobody  could  have  taken  more  care  of  me,  mamma. 
Dr.  Sandford  has  been  very  good.' 

'  He  always  was  your  favourite,'  she  remarked. 

'  Well,  mamma,  he  deserved  all  I  have  given  him.' 

'Don't  give  anybody  much, — unless  I  bid  you,'  my 
mother  said  laughingly.  'Daisy,  you  have  matured 
better  even  than  I  ever  thought  you  would,  or  than  your 
aunt  Gary  told  me.  Your  figure  is  as  good  as  ever  mine 
was.' 

She  took  up  one  of  my  hands,  looked  at  it,  kissed  it, 
and  as  she  let  it  drop  asked  carelessly, 

'  What  has  become  of  Preston  now  ?' 

I  felt  as  if  breakers  were  all  around  me.  '  He  has 
joined  the  Southern  army,'  I  said. 

'  When  did  you  see  him  ?' 

'  Not  since  a  year  ago.' 

'Where  then?' 

'At  West  Point,  mamma.  He  only  graduated  this 
spring.' 

'  Were  you  long  at  West  Point?' 

'  Yes,  ma'am — some  weeks.' 

'  Dr.  Sandford  did  not  shew  remarkable  care  in  that.' 

'  He  thought  so,  mamma,  for  he  found  me  not  well, 
and  took  me  away  immediately  from  school,  without 
11* 


126  DAISY. 

waiting  for  the  term  to  close.  Mrs.  Sandford  and  he 
were  going  to  West  Point — and  so — ' 

'  West  Point  did  you  good  ?' 

'  I  grew  well  there.' 

'  Your  aunt  tells  me,  your  voice  is  very  uncommon, 
Daisy.  Is  she  right  in  that  ?' 

'  Mamma — you  can  judge  better  than  I.  It  is  not  so 
easy  for  me  to  judge  how  it  sounds/ 

'  You  know  how  it  sounds  to  you.' 

*  Yes,  but  then  I  am  thinking  of  the  music.     I  cannot 
tell,  mamma,  how  it  sounds  to  other  people.' 

*  Well,  we  shall  be  able  to  judge  by  and  by,'  my  mother 
said  in  a  satisfied  tone.     '  Your  speaking  voice  is  as  calm 
and  sweet  as  I  ever  heard.' 

'  Calm?  mamma,'  I  said  laughing. 

'  Yes,  child.  Don't  you  know  most  people's  voices 
have  a  little  thread,  if  it  is  not  more,  of  sharpness  or 
roughness,  coming  out  somewhere.  It  is  sure  to  come 
out  somewhere ;  in  one  form  of  speech  or  another ;  with 
some  people  it  only  appears  in  the  laugh,  and  they  should 
never  laugh.  Your  voice  is  like  a  chime  of  bells.'  And 
my  mother  took  me  in  her  arms,  half-dressed  as  I  was, 
and  pressed  her  lips  full  upon  mine ;  looking  into  my 
face  and  playing  with  me  and  smiling  at  me ;  finishing 
with  another  pressure  of  her  mouth  to  mine. 

*  Your  lips  are  very  sweet,'  she  said,  with  a  half  sigh. 
*  I  wonder  who  else  will  think  so !' 

And  if  one  bit  of  vanity  or  self-exaltation  could  have 
been  stirred  in  my  thoughts,  though  it  were  by  my 
mother's  praises,  these  last  words  banished  it  well.  I 
was  sobered  to  the  depths  of  my  heart ;  so  sobered,  that 
I  found  it  expedient  to  be  busy  with  my  dressing  and  not 
expose  my  face  immediately  to  any  more  observations. 
And  even  when  I  went  down  stairs,  my  father's  first  re 
mark  was, 


DAISY'S  POST.  127 

'  It  is  the  same  Daisy !' 

'  Did  you  doubt  it,  papa  ?'  I  asked  with  a  smile. 
'  No,  my  pet.' 

'  Then  why  do  you  say  that  as  soon  as  I  make  my  ap 
pearance!' 

*  I  can  hardly  tell — the  consciousness  forced  itself  upon 
me.     You  are  looking  at  life  with  a  microscope, — as  of 
old.' 

'With  a  microscope,  papa!' 

'  To  pick  up  invisible  duties  and  find  out  indiscernible 
dangers — ' 

*  When  one  is  as  old  as  I  am,'  I  said,  'there  is  no  need 
of  a  microscope  to  find  out  either  dangers  or  duties.' 

'Ha!'  said  my  father,  folding  me  in  his  arms — '  what 
dangers  have  you  discovered,  Daisy  ?' 

'  I  believe  they  are  everywhere,  papa,'  I  said  kissing 
him. 

'  Not  here,'  he  said  fondly ;  '  there  shall  be  none  here 
for  you.' 

'  Mr.  Randolph,'  said  mamma  laughing,  '  if  Daisy  is  to 
be  meat  and  drink  as  well  as  scenery  to  you,  we  may  as 
well  dispense  with  the  usual  formalities ;  but  I  hope  you 
will  condescend  to  look  at  dinner  as  usual.' 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

SKIRMISHING. 

THAT  first  dinner  at  home !  how  strange  and  sweet  it  was. 
So  sweet,  that  I  could  scarcely  hear  the  note  of  the  little 
warning  bell  down  in  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  But 
mamma  had  struck  it  up  stairs,  and  its  vibrations  would 
not  quite  be  still.  Yet  there  was  a  wonderful  charm  in 
my  own  home  circle.  The  circle  was  made  larger  in  the 
evening,  by  the  coming  in  of  two  of  Ransom's  friends, 
who  were  also,  I  saw,  friends  of  my  father  and  mother. 
They  were  two  Southern  gentlemen,  as  I  immediately 
knew  them  to  be;  MM.  de  Saussure  and  Marshall, 
Ransom's  worthy  compeers  in  the  line  of  personal  appear 
ance  and  manner.  De  Saussure  especially;  but  I  liked 
Marshall  best.  This  I  found  out  afterward.  The  conver 
sation  that  evening  naturally  went  back  to  America  which 
I  had  just  come  from,  and  to  the  time  of  my  leaving 
it,  and  to  the  news  then  new  there  and  but  lately  arrived 
here.  I  had  to  hear  the  whole  Bull  Run  affair  talked 
over  from  beginning  to  end  and  back  again.  It  was  not 
so  pleasant  a  subject  to  me  as  to  the  rest  of  the  company; 
which  I  suppose  made  the  talk  seem  long. 

'And  you  were  there?'  said  Mr.  de  Saussure  suddenly 
appealing  to  me. 

'Not  at  Manasses,'  I  said. 

'  No,  but  close  by ;  held  in  durance  in  the  capital,  with 
liberators  so  near.  It  seems  to  me  very  stupid  of  Beau- 
regard  not  to  have  gone  in  and  set  you  free/ 

128 


SKIRMISHING.  129 

'Free?'  said  I  smiling.     'I  was  free.' 

*  There  will  be  no  freedom  in  the  country,  properly 
speaking,  until  that  Northern  usurper  is  tossed  out  of  the 
place  he  occupies.' 

'That  will  be  soon,'  said  my  mother. 

'In  what  sense  is  Mr.  Lincoln  a  usurper?'  I  ventured 
to  ask.  'He  was  duly  elected/ 

'Is  it  possible  Daisy  has  turned  politician?'  exclaimed 
my  brother. 

'He  is  not  a  usurper/  said  Mr.  Marshall. 

'He  is,  if  being  out  of  his  place  can  make  him  so/ 
said  De  Saussure;  'and  the  assumption  of  rights  that 
nobody  has  given  him.  By  what  title  does  he  dare  shut 
up  Southern  ports  and  send  his  cut-throats  upon  Southern 
soil  ?' 

'Well,  they  have  met  their  punishment,'  my  father  re 
marked.  And  it  hurt  me  sorely  to  hear  him  say  it  with 
evident  pleasure. 

'The  work  is  not  done  yet,'  said  Ransom.  'But  at 
Bull  Run  rates — "sixty  pieces  of  splendid  cannon"  taken, 
as  Mr.  Davis  says,  and  how  many  killed  and  prisoners? 
— the  mud-sills  will  not  be  able  to  keep  it  up  very  long. 
Absurd !  to  think  that  those  Northern  shopkeepers  could 
make  head  against  a  few  dozen  Southern  swords.' 

'There  were  only  a  few  dozen  swords  at  Manasses,'  said 
De  Saussure.  'Eighteen  thousand,  Mr.  Davis  puts  the 
number  in  his  Richmond  speech  ;  and  the  Northern  army 
had  sixty  thousand  in  the  field.' 

'A  Richmond  paper  says  forty  thousand  instead  of 
eighteen,'  Mr.  Marshall  remarked. 

'  Mr.  Russell,  of  the  London  Times,  estimated  Beaure- 
gard's  force  at  sixty  thousand,'  I  said. 

'He  don't  know!'  said  De  Saussure. 

'And  Mr.  Davis  does  not  know,'  I  added;  'for  the 
whole  loss  of  cannon  on  the  Northern  side  that  day 

I 


130  DAISY. 

amounted  to  but  seventeen.  Mr.  Davis  may  as  well  be 
wrong  in  one  set  of  facts  as  in  another.  He  said  also 
that  provisions  enough  were  taken  to  feed  an  army  of 
fifty  thousand  men  for  twelve  months.' 

'Well,  why  not?'  said  Ransom  frowning. 

'These  gentlemen  can  tell  you  why  not.' 

'Pretty  heavy  figures,'  said  Mr.  Marshall. 

'Why  are  they  not  true,  Miss  Randolph?'  Mr.  de 
Saussure  asked,  bending  as  before  a  most  deferential  look 
upon  me. 

'  And  look  here, — in  what  interest  are  you,  Daisy  ?'  my 
brother  continued. 

'Nothing  is  gained  by  blinking  the  truth  anywhere, 
Ransom.' 

'No,  that  is  true,'  said  my  father. 

'Daisy  has  been  under  the  disadvantage  of  hearing 
only  one  side  lately,'  my  mother  remarked  very  coolly. 

'But  about  the  provisions,  Miss  Randolph?'  Mr.  de 
Saussure  insisted,  returning  to  the  point  with  a  willing 
ness,  I  thought,  to  have  me  speak. 

<  Mamma  says,  I  have  heard  only  one  side/  I  answered. 
'But  on  that  side  I  have  heard  it  remarked,  that  twelve 
thousand  wagons  \vould  have  been  required  to  carry 
those  provisions  to  the  battlefield.  I  do  not  know  if  the 
calculation  was  correct.' 

Mr.  de  Saussure's  face  clouded  for  an  instant.  My 
father  seemed  to  be  pondering.  Ransom's  frowns  grew 
more  deep. 

'What  side  are  you  on,  Daisy?'  he  repeated. 

'She  is  on  her  own  side,  of  course,'  my  mother  said. 

'I  hope  there  is  no  doubt  of  that,  Mrs.  Randolph,' 
said  Mr.  Marshall.  'Such  an  enemy  would  be  very 
formidable!  I  should  begin  to  question  on  which  side  I 
was  myself.' 

They  went  off  into  a  long  discussion  about  the  proba- 


SKIRMISHING.  131 

ble  movements  of  the  belligerent  parties  in  America; 
what  might  be  expected  from  different  generals;  how 
long  the  conflict  was  likely  to  last,  and  how  its  certain 
issue,  the  discomfiture  of  the  North  and  the  independence 
of  the  South,  would  be  attained.  Mingled  with  this  dis 
cussion  were  laudations  of  Jefferson  Davis,  scornful  re 
viling  of  President  Lincoln,  and  sneers  at  the  North 
generally ;  at  their  men,  their  officers,  their  money,  their 
way  of  making  it  and  their  way  of  spending  it.  Tri 
umphant  anticipations,  of  shame  and  defeat  to  them  and 
the  superb  exaltation  of  the  South,  were  scattered,  like  a 
salt  and  pepper  seasoning,  through  all  the  conversation. 
I  listened,  with  my  nerves  tingling  sometimes,  with  my 
heart  throbbing  at  other  times;  sadly  inclined  to  believe 
they  might  be  right  in  a  part  of  their  calculations ;  very 
sadly  sure  they  were  wrong  in  everything  else.  I  had  to 
keep  a  constant  guard  upon  my  face ;  happily  my  words 
were  not  called  for.  My  eyes  now  and  then  met  papa's, 
with  a  look  that  gave  and  received  another  sort  of  com 
munication.  When  the  evening  was  over,  and  papa  was 
folding  me  in  his  arms  to  bid  me  good-night,  he  whis 
pered, 

'You  and  I  cannot  be  on  two  sides  of  anything, 
Daisy?' 

'  Papa — you  know  on  what  side  of  most  things  I  am — ' 
I  replied  to  this  difficult  question. 

'  Do  I  ?  No,  I  do  not  know  that  I  do.  What  side  is 
it,  Daisy  ?' 

*  On  the  Lord's  side,  papa,  when  I  can  find  out  what 
that  is.' 

'  Make  me  sure  that  you  have  found  it,  and  I  will  be 
on  that  side  too,'  he  said  as  he  kissed  me. 

The  words  filled  me  with  a  great  joy.  For  they  were 
not  spoken  in  defiance  of  the  supposed  condition,  but 
rather,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  in  desire  and  love  of  it.  Had 


132  DAISY. 

papa  come  to  that  ?  The  new  joy  poured  like  a  flood 
over  all  the  dry  places  in  my  heart,  which  had  got  into 
a  very  dry  state  with  hearing  the  conversation  of  the 
evening.  I  went  to  bed  tired  and  happy. 

Nevertheless  I  awoke  to  the  consciousness  that  I  had 
a  nice  piece  of  navigation  before  me,  and  plenty  of  rough 
water  in  all  probability.  The  best  thing  would  be  for 
me  to  be  as  silent  as  possible.  Could  I  be  silent?  They 
all  wanted  to  hear  what  I  would  say.  Every  eye  had 
sought  mine  this  past  evening. 

I  was  the  first  in  the  breakfast-room,  and  papa  was  the 
next.  We  were  alone.  He  took  me  tenderly  in  his 
arms  and  held  me  fast,  looking  at  me  and  kissing  me 
by  turns. 

*  Are  you  well  now,  papa  ?'  I  asked  him.  '  Are  you 
quite  well  again  ?' 

'  Well  enough/  he  answered ;  '  not  just  as  I  was 
once.' 

'Why  not,  papa?' 

'  I  have  never  quite  got  over  that  unlucky  fall.  It  has 
left  my  head  a  little  shaky,  Daisy ;  and  my  strength — • 
Never  mind!  you  are  my  strength  now,  my  pet.  We 
should  have  gone  home  before  this,  only  for  the  troubles 
breaking  out  there.' 

I  leaned  my  head  upon  his  breast,  and  wished  the  troubles 
were  not !  What  a  division  those  troubles  made,  unknown 
to  him,  between  his  heart's  happiness  and  mine — yes,  be 
tween  him  and  me.  Mamma  came  in  and  looked  at  us 
both. 

'  It  is  a  very  pretty  picture,'  she  said.  And  she  kissed 
me,  while  papa  did  not  let  me  out  of  his  arms.  *  Daisy, 
you  are  a  beauty.' 

'  She  is  a  great  deal  better  than  a  beauty,'  said  my 
father.  '  But,  now  I  look  at  you,  Daisy — yes,  you  are  a 
beauty,  certainly.' 


SKIRMISHING.  133 

They  both  laughed  heartily  at  the  colour  which  all 
this  raised  in  my  face. 

'  Most  exquisite,  her  skin  is,'  said  my  mother  touching 
my  cheek.  '  Did  you  ever  see  anything  superior  to  it, 
Mr.  Randolph?  Rose  leaves  are  not  any  better  than 
that.  Pshaw,  Daisy !  you  must  get  accustomed  to  hear 
people  say  it.' 

'Nobody  shall  say  it  to  me,  mamma,  but  you/ 

'  No,'  said  my  father.     '  That  is  my  view  of  it,  too.' 

1  Nonsense !'  said  mamma — '  there  are  a  thousand  ways 
of  doing  the  same  thing,  and  you  cannot  stop  them  all. 
Your  hair  is  as  fine  as  possible,  too,  Daisy,  although  it 
has  not  had  me  to  t*ake  care  of  it.' 

'But  I  did  just  as  you  told  me  with  it,  mamma,'  I 
said. 

She  kissed  me  again.  '  Did  nobody  ever  tell  you  you 
were  beautiful  ?'  she  asked  archly.  '  Yes,  I  know  that 
you  did  just  as  I  told  you.  You  always  did,  and  always 
will.  But  did  you  not  know  that  you  were  beautiful  ?' 

'  Speak,  Daisy,'  said  papa.  Said  as  it  was  with  a  smile, 
it  brought  childish  memories  vividly  back. 

'  Mamma,'  I  said,  '  I  have  heard  something  of  it — and 
I  suppose  it  may  be  true.' 

They  laughed,  and  mamma  remarked  that  I  was 
human  yet.  '  There  is  a  difference  between  the  child  and 
the  woman,  you  will  find,  Mr.  Randolph.' 

Papa  answered,  that  it  was  no  very  remarkable  token 
of  humanity,  to  have  eyes  and  ears. 

'  Daisy's  eyes  were  always  remarkable,'  said  my  mother. 

'  But,  mamma,'  said  I,  '  in  other  things  there  is  no  dif 
ference  between  the  child  and  the  woman.  My  outside 
may  have  altered — my  mind  is  not  changed  at  all ;  only 
grown.' 

'  That  will  do,'  said  mamma. 

I  was  obliged' to  leave  it  to  time,  and  hoped  to  make 

VOL.  II. 12 


134  DAISY. 

myself  so  pleasant  that  what  I  could  not  change  in  me 
might  be  at  least  tolerated,  if  it  were  not  approved.  It 
seemed  an  easy  task  !  I  was  such  a  manifest  subject  of 
joy,  to  father  and  mother,  and  even  Ransom  too.  A 
newly  discovered  land,  full  of  gold,  is  not  more  delight 
fully  explored  by  its  finders,  than  I  was  watched,  scru 
tinized,  commented  on,  by  my  family. 

That  first  day,  of  course,  they  could  not  let  me  out  of 
their  sight.  It  was  nothing  but  talk,  all  day  long.  In 
the  evening  however  our  last  evening's  guests  reappeared. 
The  conversation  this  time  did  not  get  upon  American 
politics,  so  everybody  shewed  to  better  advantage ;  I 
suppose,  myself  included.  We  had  music ;  and  the  gen 
tlemen  were  greatly  delighted  with  my  voice  and  my 
singing.  Mamma  and  papa  took  it  very  coolly  until  we 
were  left  alone  again;  then  my  mother  came  up  and 
kissed  me. 

'  You  have  done  your  duty,  Daisy,  in  improving  your 
voice,'  she  said.  '  You  are  a  Daisy  I  am  perfectly  satis 
fied  with.  If  you  can  sing  as  well  in  public  as  you  have 
done  to-night  in  private,  papa  will  be  proud  of  you.' 

'  In  public,  mamma  ?'  I  said. 

'Yes.  That  does  not  frighten  you.  Nothing  does 
frighten  you/ 

'  No,  mamma,  but — what  do  you  mean  by  "  in  pub 
lic"  ?' 

'  Not  on  the  stage,'  said  mamma. 

'  But  mamma, — papa/ — I  said  anxiously,  '  this  is  what 
I  want  you  to  understand.  I  will  do  anything  in  the 
world  you  wish  me  to  do  ;  only,  I  am — I  must  be, — you 
know, — a  servant  of  Christ.' 

'  I  said  nothing  against  that,'  my  mother  replied.  But 
my  father,  clasping  me  in  his  arms,  whispered, 

'  We  will  be  servants  together,  Daisy.' 

That  word  sent  me  to  bed  with  a  whole  heartful  of 


SKIRMISHING.  135 

thankfulness.  I  could  bear  anything  now,  if  his  words 
meant  what  I  hoped  they  did.  And  I  should  have  se 
curity,  too,  against  any  too  great  trial  of  my  affection 
and  duty  to  him  and  to  mamma. 

An  expedition  had  been  arranged  for  the  next  day  ;  in 
which  my  brother  and  his  friends  were  to  take  me  upon 
the  lake.  Mamma  and  papa  would  not  go.  It  was  a 
day,  in  one  sort,  of  such  pleasure  as  I  had  never  known 
till  then.  The  beautiful  water,  the  magnificent  shores  of 
the  lake,  the  wonderful  lights  on  the  mountains,  almost 
took  me  out  of  this  world ;  to  which  they  seemed  scarcely 
to  belong.  I  cannot  tell  what  a  pang  in  the  midst  of 
this  pleasure  the  thought  of  Mr.  Thorold  brought  with  it. 
The  life  I  was  living  now  was  so  very  far  from  his  life, 
and  so  unlike ;  my  part  of  the  world  was  now  so  very  dis 
tant  from  his, — there  was  such  an  abyss  between  ; — and  yet, 
the  Swiss  hills  were  so  glorious,  and  I  was  enjoying  them. 
I  began  to  wonder,  as  we  were  sailing  towards  home  in  the 
end  of  the  day,  what  work  I  had  to  do  in  this  new  and 
strange  place ;  why  was  I  here  ?  Perhaps,  to  learn  pa 
tience,  and  have  faith  grow  strong  by  trial,  while  all  my 
life  hopes  waited  upon  a  will  that  I  did  not  know  and 
must  trust.  Perhaps,  to  stand  up  for  Christian  truth 
and  simplicity  in  the  face  of  much  opposition.  Perhaps, 
to  suffer,  and  learn  to  bear  suffering. 

'  You  are  fatigued,  Miss  Randolph  ?'  said  the  soft  voice 
of  De  Saussure. 

'  Or  beauty  of  scenery,  so  much  beauty,  makes  you 
melancholy,'  said  Mr.  Marshall.  *  It  always  makes  me 
so,  if  I  let  myself  think  of  it/ 

'  Why  should  it  make  any  one  melancholy  ?'  I  asked. 
'I  think  beauty  has  the  contrary  effect.' 

'  A  little  beauty.  But  very  great  and  wonderful  love 
liness — I  don't  know  why,  it  always  moves  me  so.  It  is 
something  too  far  beyond  me ;  it  is  unlike  me ;  it  seems 


136  DAISY. 

to  belong  to  another  stage  of  being,  while  I  am  held  fast 
in  this.  It  mocks  me, — somehow.' 

'  It  does  not  do  so  with  me/  I  said. 

'Ah,  it  is  your  world!'  De  Saussure  said  laughing. 
'  It  could  not  do  so  with  you  very  well.' 

'But  look  at  Mont  Pilatte  now,'  resumed  Mr.  Mar 
shall, — '  with  that  crown  of  light  on  its  brow  ; — does  it 
not  give  you  the  feeling  of  something  inapproachable^— 
not  literally  but  spiritually, — something  pure,  glorious, 
infinite — something  that  shames  us  mortals  into  insignifi 
cance  ?' 

I  looked,  and  I  thought  I  knew  why  he  felt  as  he 
did ;  but  I  did  not  think  I  could  explain  it  to  him  just 
then. 

'  Have  you  a  little  of  my  feeling  ?'  he  said  again.  '  Do 
you  understand  it  ?' 

'  I  understand  it,  I  think,'  I  said. 

'  And  do  not  share  it  at  all  ?' 

'  No,  Mr.  Marshall.  Of  course,  the  mountain  is  great, 
and  I  am  small ;  but  the  purity,  and  the  glory, — that  is 
not  beyond  reach  ;  and  no  human  being  ought  to  be  in 
significant,  and  none  need  be.' 

'  Not  if  his  life  is  insignificant  ?' 

'  Nobody's  life  ought  to  be  that,'  I  answered. 

'  How  can  it  be  helped,  in  the  case  of  many  a  one  ?' 

'Yes  indeed,'  said  De  Saussure;  'there  is  a  question. 
I  should  like  to  hear  Miss  Randolph  answer  it.' 

One  spoke  lightly  and  the  other  earnestly.  It  was  not 
easy  to  answer  them  both. 

'  I  should  like  to  have  you  define  insignificance  first,' 
I  said. 

'  Can  there  be  a  more  significant  word  ?'  said  Mr.  de 
Saussure.  'It  defines  itself.' 

'  A  life  of  insignificance,  is  a  life  that  does  not  signify 
anything,'  Mr.  Marshall  added. 


SKIRMISHING.  137 

'  Most  people's  lives  signify  something,'  I  said  stupidly, 
my  thoughts  running  on  far  ahead  of  my  words. 

1  Yes,  to  somebody  in  the  corner  at  home,'  Mr.  Mar 
shall  said,  '  whose  affection  cannot  make  a  true  estimate. 
But  do  most  people's  lives  signify  anything,  except  to 
some  fond  judgment  of  that  sort?' 

'Who  is  estimating  you,  in  a  corner  at  home?'  said 
Mr.  de  Saussure. 

'  Nobody — and  that  you  know.  Nobody,  except  my 
old  mammy.' 

'  You  are  a  lucky  fellow,  Hugh.  Free  as  air !  Now 
I  have  five  or  six  dear  appraisers  at  my  home ;  who  are 
of  opinion  that  an  epaulette  and  a  commission  would  add 
to  my  value;  or  rather,  to  do  them  justice,  they  are 
very  desirous  to  have  my  life — or  my  death — tell  for 
something,  in  the  struggle  which  occupies  all  their 
thoughts  at  present.  I  do  not  mean  that  they  have  no 
choice,  but,  one  or  the  other.  And  so  am  I  desirous; 
but — Lucerne  is  so  very  captivating !  And  really,  as  I 
said,  one  signifies  so  little.' 

'  One  is  half  of  two,'  said  Ransom — '  and  a  hundreth 
part  of  a  hundred.' 

'I  should  like,  I  think,  to  be  half  of  two,'  said  De 
Saussure  comically.  'I  don't  care  about  being  the 
hundreth  part  of  anything.' 

'  But  you  are  going  when  I  go  ?'  said  Ransom. 

'  Mrs.  Randolph  says  so ;  and  I  suppose  she  will  com 
mand  me.  What  does  Miss  Randolph  say  ?' 

'  Yes,  to  my  question,'  said  Hugh  Marshall. 

'I  do  not  quite  know  what  is  either  question,'  I  re 
plied  ;  '  and  a  judge  ought  to  understand  his  cause.' 

'  Is  it  my  duty  to  go  and  plunge  into  the  melee  at  home, 
because  my  mother  and  two  aunts  and  three  sisters  are 
all  telling  me  they  will  renounce  me  if  I  do  not  ?  I  say, 
what  does  one  signify  ?' 

12* 


133  DAISY. 

'  And  I  say,  how  may  one  escape  from  insignificance  ? 
— anyhow  ?' 

'A.  man  with  your  income  need  not  ask  that,'  said 
Kansom. 

1  What  does  Miss  Randolph  say  ?'  De  Saussure  in 
sisted. 

1  If  you  will  tell  me,  Mr.  de  Saussure,  what  the  South 
is  fighting  for,  I  can  better  answer  you.' 

'That  speech  is  Daisy  all  over!'  said  Ransom  impa 
tiently.  '  She  never  will  commit  herself,  if  she  can  get 
somebody  to  do  it  for  her.' 

'  Fighting  for  freedom — for  independence,  of  course !' 
Mr.  de  Saussure  said,  opening  his  eyes.  'Is  there  any 
question  ?' 

'  How  was  their  freedom  threatened  ?' 

'Why,'  said  Ransom  hotly,  'what  do  you  think  of 
armies  upon  the  soil  of  Virginia  ? — invading  armies,  come 
to  take  what  they  like  ?  What  do  you  think  of  Southern 
forts  garrisoned  by  Northern  troops,  and  Southern  cities 
in  blockade  ?  Is  that  your  idea  of  freedom  ?' 

'  These  are  not  the  cause,  but  the  effect,  of  the  position 
taken  by  the  South,'  I  said. 

'  Yes,  we  fired  the  first  gun,  Randolph,'  said  Mr.  Mar 
shall. 

'  Sumter  was  held  against  us,'  said  Ransom. 

'  Not  till  South  Carolina  had  seceded.' 

'Well,  she  had  a  right  to  secede!'  cried  Ransom. 
'And  this  right  the  Northern  mudsills  are  trying  to 
trample  out.  If  she  has  not  a  right  to  be  governed  as 
she  likes,  she  is  not  free.' 

'  But  why  did  she  secede  ?'  I  asked.  '  What  wrong 
was  done  her  ?' 

'  You  are  a  girl,  and  cannot  understand  such  matters !' 
Ransom  answered  impatiently.  'Just  ask  mamma  to 
talk  to  you ; — or  I  will !' 


SKIRMISHING.  139 

'  Miss  Randolph's  question  is  pertinent  though,'  said 
Mr.  Marshall ;  '  and  I  am  ashamed  to  confess  I  am  as 
little  able  to  answer  it  as  she.  What  wrong  had  they  to 
complain  of?' 

'  Why  Hugh,  you  certainly  know,'  his  companion 
answered,  *  that  Lincoln  was  elected ;  and  that  if  the 
government  is  to  be  in  the  hands  of  those  who  do  not 
think  and  vote  with  us — as  this  election  shews  it  will — 
we  shall  be  pushed  to  the  wall.  The  South  and  her  in 
stitutions  will  come  to  nothing — will  be  in  a  contemptible 
minority.  We  do  not  choose  that.' 

'  Then  the  wrong  done  them  was  that  they  were  out 
voted  ?'  Mr.  Marshall  said. 

1  Put  it  so!'  De  Saussure  replied  with  heat;  'we  have 
a  right  to  say  we  will  govern  ourselves  and  sail  our  own 
boat.' 

'Yes,  so  I  think  we  have,'  said  the  other.  '  Whether 
it  is  worth  such  a  war,  is  another  question.  Such  a  war 
is  a  serious  thing.' 

'  It  would  be  mean-spirited  to  let  our  rights  be  taken 
from  us,'  said  Ransom.  'It  is  worth  anything  to  main 
tain  them/ 

'  It  will  not  be  much  of  a  war/  resumed  De  Saussure. 
'  Those  poor  tailors  and  weavers  will  find  their  workshops 
are  a  great  deal  more  comfortable  than  soldiers'  tents  and 
the  battle-ground;  and  they  won't  stand  fire,  depend 
upon  it.' 

'  Cowardly  Yankees !'  said  Ransom. 

'  That  is  Preston's  favourite  word,'  I  remarked.  '  But 
I  am  not  clear  that  you  are  not  both  mistaken/ 

'  You  have  lived  among  Yankees,  till  it  has  hurt  you/ 
said  Ransom. 

1  Till  I  have  learned  to  know  something  about  them/ 
I  said. 

'  And  is  your  judgment  of  the  probable  issue  of  the 


140  DAISY. 

war,  different  from  that  I  have  expressed,  Miss  Ran 
dolph?'  Mr.  de  Saussure  asked. 

'My  judgment  is  not  worth  much/  I  said.  'I  have 
doubts/ 

'  But  you  agree  with  us  as  to  the  right  of  preserving 
our  independence  ?'  Mr.  Marshall  said. 

1  Does  independence  mean,  the  governing  power?  Does 
every  minority,  as  such,  lose  its  independence?' 

'Yes!'  said  De  Saussure — 'if  it  is  to  be  permanently 
a  minority.' 

'That  would  be  our  case,  you  see,'  Mr.  Marshall  went 
on.  '  Are  we  not  justified  in  endeavouring  to  escape  from 
such  a  position?' 

I  was  most  unwilling  to  talk  on  the  subject,  but  they 
were  all  determined  I  should.  I  could  not  escape. 

'It  depends,'  I  said,  'the  settlement  of  that  question, 
upon  the  other  question,  whether  our  government  is  one 
or  twenty.' 

'It  is  thirty!'  said  Ransom. 

I  had  thrown  a  ball  now  which  they  could  keep  up 
without  me.  To  my  joy,  the  whole  three  became  so  much 
engaged  in  the  game,  that  I  was  forgotten.  I  could 
afford  to  forget  too ;  and  quitting  the  fair  lake  and  the 
glorious  mountain  that  looked  down  upon  it,  ceasing  to 
hear  the  eager  debate  which  went  on  at  my  side,  my 
thoughts  flew  over  the  water  to  a  uniform  and  a  sword 
that  were  somewhere  in  that  struggle  of  rights  and  wrongs. 
My  heart  sank.  So  far  off,  and  I  could  not  reach 
him;  so  busy  against  the  feelings  and  prejudices  of  my 
friends,  and  I  could  not  reconcile  them ;  in  danger,  and 
I  could  not  be  near ;  in  trouble,  perhaps,  and  I  could  not 
help.  It  would  not  do  to  think  about.  I  brought  my 
thoughts  back,  and  wondered  at  old  Mont  Pilatte  which 
looked  so  steadily  down  on  me  with  the  calm  of  the  ages. 


CHAPTER    X. 

WAITING. 

FOR  weeks  after  this  sail  on  the  lake  my  life  was  like 
a  fete  day.  Expeditions  of  all  sorts  were  planned  and 
carried  out  for  my  pleasure.  One  day  we  were  exploring 
the  lake  shores  in  a  boat;  the  next,  we  went  back  into 
the  country,  as  far  as  we  could  go  and  return  before  even 
ing;  a  third  day  we  climbed  the  mountains  somewhere 
and  got  glorious  new  views  of  what  the  world  is.  Nothing 
could  hinder,  in  those  days,  buj  that  my  draught  of 
pleasure  was  very  full.  Whatever  weight  might  lie  at 
my  heart,  when  I  found  myself  high,  high  up  above  the 
ordinary  region  of  life,  resting  on  a  mountain  summit 
from  which  I  looked  down  upon  all  that  surrounded  me 
other  days;  a  little  of  that  same  lifting  up  befel  the 
thoughts  of  my  heart  and  the  views  that  have  to  do  with 
the  spirit's  life.  I  stood  above  the  region  of  mists  for  a 
little.  I  saw  how  the  inequalities  of  the  lower  level, 
which  perplex  us  there,  sink  into  nothing  when  looked 
upon  from  a  higher  standpoint.  I  saw  that  rough  roads 
led  to  quiet  valleys ;  and  that  the  blessed  sunlight  was 
always  lying  on  the  earth,  though  down  in  one  of  those 
depths  one  might  lose  sight  of  it  for  a  time.  I  do  not 
know  how  it  is,  but  getting  up  into  a  high  mountain  has 
a  little  the  effect  of  getting  out  of  the  world.  One  has 
left  perplexities  and  uncertainties  behind ;  the  calm  and 
the  strength  of  the  everlasting  hills  is  about  one;  the 
air  is  not  defiled  with  contentions  or  rivalries  or  jealousies 

141 


142  DAISY. 

up  there ;  and  the  glory  of  creation  reminds  one  of  other 
glory,  and  power,  and  wisdom  and  might;  and  one 
breathes  hope  and  rest.  So  I  used  to  do.  Of  all  our 
excursions,  I  liked  best  to  go  up  the  mountains.  No 
matter  how  high,  or  by  how  difficult  a  road. 

Mamma  and  papa  were  only  now  and  then  of  the 
party.  That  I  was  very  sorry  for,  but  it  could  not  be 
helped.  Mamma  had  seen  it  all,  she  said  ;  and  when  I 
urged  that  she  had  not  been  to  this  particular  "horn," 
she  said  that  one  "horn"  was  just  like  another  and  that 
when  you  had  seen  one  or  two  you  had  seen  them  all. 
But  I  never  found  it  so.  Every  new  time  was  a  new 
revelation  of  glory  to  me.  If  I  could  have  had  papa 
with  me,  my  satisfaction  would  have  been  perfect;  but 
papa  shunned  fatigue,  and  never  went  where  he  could 
not  go  easily.  I  was  obliged  to  be  content  with  my 
brother  and  my  brother's  friends;  and  after  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  to  that,  the  whole  way  was  a  rejoicing  to  me, 
from  the  time  I  left  the  house  till  we  returned,  a  weary 
and  hungry  party,  to  claim  mamma's  welcome  again.  Our 
party  was  always  the  same  four.  Mr.  de  Saussure  and 
Hugh  Marshall  were,  I  found,  very  intimately  at  home 
with  my  father  and  mother,  and  naturally  they  were 
soon  on  the  same  footing  with  me.  As  far  as  care  went, 
I  had  three  brothers  to  look  after  me,  of  whom  indeed 
Ransom  was  not  the  most  careful ;  and  as  to  social  quali 
fications,  they  were  extremely  well-bred,  well-educated, 
and  had  a  great  deal  of  general  and  particular  cultiva 
tion.  In  the  evenings  we  had  music  and  conversation ; 
which  last  was  always  very  pleasant  except  when  it 
turned  upon  American  affairs.  Then  I  had  great  twinges 
of  heart,  which  I  thought  it  wise  to  keep  to  myself  as 
closely  as  possible. 

I  remember  well  the  twinge  I  had,  when  one  evening 
early  in  September  De  Saussure  came  in,  the  utmost  glee 


WAITING.  143 

expressed  in  his  eyes  and  manner,  and  announced  his 
news  thus; — 

'They  have  had  a  battle  at  Springfield  and  Lyon  is 
killed.' 

'Who  is  Lyon?'  I  could  not  help  asking,  though  it  was 
incautious. 

'  You  should  not  ask,'  he  said  more  gently  as  he  sat 
down  by  me;  'you  have  no  relish  for  these  things.  Even 
the  cause  of  liberty  cannnot  sweeten  them  to  you.' 

'Who  is  Lyon,  De  Saussure?'  my  father  repeated. 

'A  Connecticut  fellow.'  The  tone  of  these  words,  in 
its  utter  disdain,  was  inexpressible. 

'Connecticut?'  said  my  father.  'Has  the  war  got  into 
New  England?  That  cannot  be.' 

'No,  sir,  no,  sir,'  said  Ransom.  'It  is  Springfield  in 
Missouri.  You  find  a  Yankee  wherever  you  go  in  this 
world.' 

'Wilson's  Creek  is  the  place  of  the  battle,'  Mr.  de 
Saussure  went  on.  'Near  Springfield,  in  Missouri.  It 
was  an  overwhelming  defeat.  Lyon  killed,  and  the  next 
in  command  obliged  to  beat  off.' 

'  Who  on  our  side?'  asked  my  mother. 

'Ben  McCulloch  and  Price.' 

'How  many  engaged?     Was  it  much  of  an  affair?' 

'  We  had  twenty  thousand  or  so*  Of  course,  the  others 
had  more.' 

'It  doesn't  take  but  one  or  two  Southerners  to  whip  a 
score  of  those  cowards,'  said  Ransom. 

'Why  should  not  the  war  have  got  into  New  England, 
Mr.  Randolph?'  my  mother  asked.  'You  said,  "That 
cannot  be."  Why  should  it  not  be?' 

'There  are  a  few  thousand  men  in  the  way,'  said  my 
father ;  '  and  I  think  they  are  not  all  cowards. ' 

'They  will  never  stand  before  our  rifles,'  said  De 
Saussure. 


144  DAISY. 

'Our  boys  will  mow  them  down  like  grass,'  said 
Ransom.  '  And  in  New  Orleans  the  fever  will  take  care 
of  them.  How  soon,  mother,  will  the  fever  be  there?' 

Mamma  and  Ransom  compared  notes  upon  the  proba 
ble  and  usual  time  for  the  yellow  fever  to  make  its  ap 
pearance,  when  it  would  wield  its  scythe  of  destruction 
upon  the  fresh  harvest  of  life  made  ready  for  it,  in  the 
bands  of  the  Northern  soldiers  in  Louisiana.  My  whole 
soul  was  in  a  stir  of  opposition  to  the  speakers.  I  had  to 
be  still,  but  pain  struggled  to  speak. 

'You  do  not  enjoy  the  prospect — '  Hugh  Marshall  said 
softly. 

I  only  looked  at  him. 

'Nor  do  I,'  said  he  shaking  his  head.  'A  fair  fight  is 
one  thing. — It  is  a  terrible  state  of  affairs  at  home,  Miss 
Randolph.' 

I  had  the  utmost  difficulty  to  keep  quiet  and  give  no 
sign.  I  could  have  answered  him  with  a  cry  which  would 
have  startled  them  all.  What  if  Thorold  were  ordered 
down  there?  He  might  be.  He  would  ga  where  he 
was  ordered.  That  thought  brought  help ;  for  so  would 
I!  A  soldier,  in  another  warfare,  I  remembered  my 
ways  were  appointed,  even  as  his ;  only  more  wisely, 
more  surely,'  and  on  no  service  that  could  by  any  means 
be  in  vain.  But  yet  the  pain  was  very  sharp,  as  I  looked 
at  the  group  who  were  eagerly  discussing  war  matters ; 
my  father,  my  mother,  my  brother,  and  De  Saussure, 
who  in  the  interest  of  the  thing  had  left  my  side ;  how 
keen  they  were !  So  were  others  keen  at  home,  who  had 
swords  in  their  hands  and  pistols  in  their  belts.  It  would 
not  do  to  think.  I  could  but  repeat  to  myself, — "  I  am 
a  soldier — I  am  a  soldier — and  just  now  my  duty  is  to 
stand  and  bear  fire." 

There  was  little  chance  in  those  days  at  Lucerne  for 
me  to  be  alone  with  papa.  The  opportunities  we  had 


WAITING.  145 

we  both  enjoyed  highly.  Now  and  then  mamma  would 
be  late  for  breakfast,  or  even  take  hers  in  bed ;  once  in 
a  while  go  out  to  a  visit  from  which  I  begged  off.  Thee 
papa  and  I  drew  together  and  had  a  good  time.  One  of 
these  chances  occurred  a  few  days  after  the  news  came  of 
Gen.  Lyon's  death.  We  were  alone,  and  I  was  drawing, 
and  papa  had  been  watching  me  a  little  while  in  silence. 
1  Daisy,'  he  began,  ' am  I  wrong?  It  seems  to  me  that 
you  do  not  look  upon  matters  at  home  with  just  the  eye 
that  the  rest  of  us  have  for  them  ? 

*  What  matters,  papa  ?'  I  said  looking  up,  and  feeling 
troubled. 

'You  do  not  like  the  war.' 
'  Papa, — do  you  ?' 

*  Yes.    I  think  our  countrymen  are  right,  and  of  course 
I  wish  that  they  should  have  their  rights.' 

*  Papa,'  said  I,  'don't  you  think  it  must  be  very  strong 
reasons  that  can  justify  so  dreadful  a  thing  as  a  war?' 

'  Undoubtedly ;  but  the  preservation  of  liberty  is  one 
of  the  strongest  that  can  be  conceived.' 

'Papa — you  know  I  want  liberty  for  the  blacks.' 

'It  is  like  you,  my  dear  child,'  my  father  said,  after 
pausing  a  minute ;  '  it  is  like  your  generous  nature ;  but 
Daisy,  I  think  those  people  do  not  want  it  for  themselves/ 

'  Papa,  if  they  did  not,  I  should  think  it  would  be  one 
of  the  strongest  arguments  on  my  side ;  but  I  am  sure 
they  do.  I  know  a  great  many  of  them  that  do.' 

'  Did  not  you,  perhaps,  bring  about  that  desire  in  them, 
by  your  kind  and  possibly  somewhat  misjudged  indul- 


'  No  indeed,  papa ;  it  was  our  overseer,  with  his  wicked 
ways.     That  Mr.  Edwards  is  dreadful,  papa!' 

'All  overseers  are  not  good,'  said  my  father  with  a 
sigh.     '  The  people  at  Magnolia  are  as  well  treated,  on 
the  whole,  as  they  can  be  anywhere,  I  think, — I  hope.' 
VOL.  n.— 13  K 


146  DAISY. 

1  You  do  not  know,  papa.  If  they  are,  you  have  said 
all.  And  there  is  our  old  Maria,  who  has  nothing  to  do 
with  Mr.  Edwards ;  she  has  no  hope  nor  anticipation 
which  does  not  go  beyond  this  world ;  and  it  is  so  with 
a  great  many  of  them.  They  have  that  hope ;  but  they 
sing,  "I  am  bound  for  the  promised  land  !" — in  a  minor 
key ;  and  to  a  plaintive  air  that  makes  your  heart  ache/ 

*  Yours,  Daisy,'  said  my  father  with  a  somewhat  con 
strained  smile. 

'  Papa,'  I  went  on,  trembling,  but  I  thought  it  best  to 
venture, — '  if  the  issue  of  this  war  could  be  to  set  all  those 
people  free,  I  could  almost  be  glad.' 

*  That  will  not  be  the  issue,  Daisy,'  he  said. 
'  Papa,  what  do  you  think  will  ?' 

'  It  can  have  but  one  issue.  The  Southern  people  can 
not  be  put  down.' 

'  Then,  if  they  succeed,  what  will  be  the  state  of  things 
between  them  and  the  North  ?' 

'  It  is  impossible  to  tell  how  far  things  will  go,  Daisy, 
now  that  they  have  actually  taken  up  arms.  But  I  do 
not  think  the  Southern  people  want  anything  of  the 
North,  but  to  be  let  alone.' 

'  How  would  it  be,  if  the  North  succeeded,  papa  ?' 

'  It  cannot  succeed,  Daisy.  You  have  heard  a  differ 
ent  language,  I  suppose ;  but  I  know  the  men, — and  the 
women, — of  the  South.  They  will  never  yield.  The 
North  must,  sooner  or  later.' 

I  could  not  carry  this  on,  and  turned  the  conversation. 
But  I  had  to  listen  to  a  great  deal  of  the  same  sort  of 
thing,  in  which  I  took  no  part.  It  came  up  every  day. 
I  discovered  that  my  mother  was  using  her  influence  and 
all  her  art  to  induce  our  two  young  friends  to  return 
home  and  enter  the  Southern  army.  She  desired  with 
equal  vehemence  that  Hansom  should  take  the  same 
course;  and  as  they  all  professed  to  be  strong  in  the 


WAITING.  147 

interests  and  sympathies  that  moved  her,  I  was  a  little 
puzzled  to  understand  why  they  delayed  so  long.  For 
they  did  delay.  They  talked,  but  nothing  came  of  it. 
Still  we  went  on  fresh  excursions  and  made  new  expedi 
tions  ;  spending  days  of  delight  on  the  mountain  sides, 
and  days  of  enchantment  in  the  mountain  valleys ;  and 
still  our  party  was  of  the  same  four.  It  is  true  that  papa 
did  not  at  all  share  mamma's  eagerness  to  have  Eansom 
go  ;  but  Kansom  did  not  greatly  care  for  papa's  likings  ; 
and  in  the  case  of  the  others,  I  did  not  see  what  held 
them. 

The  printed  news  from  home  we  had  of  course,  regu 
larly  ;  and  as  far  as  I  could  without  being  watched,  I 
studied  them.  The  papers  after  all  were  mostly  South 
ern,  and  so  filled  with  outrageous  invective  and  inflated 
boasting  that  I  could  not  judge  anything  very  certainly 
from  what  they  said.  Nothing  of  great  importance 
seemed  to  be  transpiring  between  the  belligerent  parties. 
I  supposed  that  it  wanted  but  some  such  occurrence  or 
occasion  to  send  off  our  three  young  men  like  a  ball  from 
a  rifle,  straight  to  the  seat  of  war.  Meanwhile  we  en 
joyed  ourselves.  Others  did,  and  I  did  also,  whenever  I 
could  put  down  fear  and  lift  up  hope ;  and  I  was  young, 
and  that  happened  to  me  sometimes.  So  the  weeks  ran  on. 

'  I  really  don't  see  why  I  should  be  in  a  hurry  to  plunge 
myself  into  that  angry  confusion  of  things  at  home/ 
Hugh  Marshall  said  one  day.  '  It  seems  to  me,  they 
can  get  through  it  without  my  help.' 

'Well,  you  are  not  in  a  hurry.'  I  answered. 

We  were  out  as  usual  for  a  day's  pleasure  among  the 
mountains,  and  Hugh  and  I  were  resting  on  a  sunny 
bank  waiting  for  the  others  to  come  up.  We  had  dis 
tanced  them. 

'What  do  you  think  about  it?'  he  said,  suddenly  draw 
ing  himself  up  from  the  grass  and  looking  in  my  face. 


148  DAISY. 

'Men  do  not  rule  their  course  by  what  women  think/ 
— I  answered. 

'No,  you  are  wrong;  they  do!  Sometimes  they  do/ — 
he  said.  'I  have  no  mother  nor  sister  to  counsel  me; 
only  Mrs.  Randolph  bids  me  go  home  and  be  a  soldier ; 
but  I  would  as  lieve  take  advice  from  you.  What  would 
you  tell  me  to  do — if  I  were  your  brother  ?' 

'I  do  not  tell  Ransom  anything/ 

'  He  is  under  his  mother's  tutelage ;  but  I  am  not 
Tell  me  what  to  do,  Miss  Randolph.  I  am  sure  your 
counsel  would  be  good.  Do  you  wish  me  to  go  and  fight 
the  North,  as  your  mother  says  I  ought?' 

'  I  wish  people  would  not  fight  at  all/  I  said,  with  my 
heart  straitened. 

'  Of  course ;  but  here  we  are  in  it,  or  they  are ;  and  it 
is  the  same  thing.  Don't  you  think  they  can  get  through 
it  without  me?  or  do  you  say  as  your  mother, — "Every 
one  go! " 

He  looked  at  me  more  earnestly  than  was  pleasant, 
and  I  was  greatly  at  a  loss  what  to  answer.  It  was 
wisest  for  me  not  to  commit  myself  to  a  course  opposed 
to  my  mother's ;  and  yet,  truth  is  wisest  of  all.  I  looked 
to  see  Ransom  and  Mr.  de  Saussure,  but  they  were  not 
in  sight. 

'You  are  not  speaking  in  jest/  I  said;  'and  I  have  no 
business  to  speak  in  earnest.' 

'You  never  speak  any  other  way/  he  rejoined.  'Tell 
me  your  mind.  You  are  never  violent;  do  you  feel 
as  Mrs.  Randolph  does  about  it?  Would  you  like  me 
better  if  I  went  heart  and  soul  into  the  fray  at  home?' 

'  That  would  depend  upon  the  views  and  motives  with 
which  you  went  into  it.' 

'Well — if  I  did  it  for  love  of  you?'  he  said  smiling. 

'I  cannot  imagine  that  anybody  should  do  such  a 
thing  for  love  of  me.  Nothing  but  the  strongest  and 


WAITING.  149 

purest  convictions  of  duty  can  justify  such  a  thing  as 
fighting.' 

'I  suppose  I  know  what  that  means,'  he  said  somewhat 
gloomily. 

'No,'  said  I  hastily,  'I  don't  think  you  do.' 

'What  does  it  mean,  then?'  he  asked. 

'Permit  me  to  ask  first,  Are  your  convictions  strong 
and  clear,  that  it  is  your  duty  to  go  home  and  enter  the 
war  for  the  South?' 

'That's  a  searching  question,'  he  said  laughing.  'To 
say  yes,  would  be  to  condemn  myself  at  once.  To  say 
no, — what  would  that  do  for  me  with  Mrs.  Eandolph  ?' 

'You  are  not  speaking  to  Mrs.  Randolph,'  I  said,  half 
under  my  breath. 

He  looked  up  eagerly  in  my  face.  '  You  do  not  think 
as  she  does!'  he  said.  'You  do  not  believe  infighting, 
under  any  circumstances?' 

'Yes,  I  do,  Mr.  Marshall,'  I  said;  and  I  felt  myself 
colour.  'I  do  believe  in  fighting,  when  it  is  to  relieve 
the  oppressed,  to  deliver  those  who  are  trampled  upon,  or 
to  save  ourselves  or  others  from  worse  than  death.' 

'  Our  friends  at  the  South  can  hardly  be  said  to  be  in 
such  extremity,'  he  said,  looking  rather  perplexed;  'un 
less  you  believe  all  that  the  papers  say  about  Yankee 
invaders;  and  I  for  one  am  not  ready  to  do  that.' 

'Nor  I,'  I  said;   'I  know  them  too  well.' 

'Then  who  is  so  bitterly  oppressed  just  now,  Miss  Ran 
dolph?' 

'If  you  do  not  know  of  anybody,  I  would  not  fight, 
Mr.  Marshall.' 

'Really?'  said  he.  'Perhaps  I  ought  to  go  home  and 
take  care  of  my  twelve  hundred  people  at  Vincennes.  Is 
that  your  thought?' 

'Are  they  in  need  of  care?'     I  asked. 

'  Ton  my  word,  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  it  would  be 
13* 


150  DAISY. 

nearer  right  to  say,  take  care  of  myself;  for  if  the  war 
should  come  the  way  of  Vicksburg,  and  Yankee  arms 
have  a  little  success,  there  might  be  the  mischief  to  pay 
at  Vincennes.  On  reflection,  I  don't  see  how  I  could  take 
care  of  myself,  either.  Then  you  do  not  bid  me  go?'  he 
asked  again. 

'You  remember  our  words  one  day  about  insignificant 
lives?' 

'Yes!'  he  cried  eagerly;  'and  I  have  been  longing 
ever  since  to  ask  you  to  explain  more  fully  what  interested 
me  so  much.  I  never  could  get  a  chance.  I  assure  you, 
I  have  felt  to  the  bottom  of  my  heart  what  it  is  to  have 
one's  existence  really  worth  nothing,  to  anybody.  How 
may  it  be  better?  My  life  has  to  do  with  nothing  but 
insignificant  things.' 

'But  you  must  define  insignificance,'  I  said. 

'Is  it  needful?' 

'I  think  so.  What  makes  things  insignificant?  Not 
their  being  small, — or  common?' 

'What  then,  Miss  Kandolph?' 

'Small  things,  and  common  things,  are  often  to  the 
last  degree  important,  you  know,  Mr.  Marshall.' 

'  Yes ;  but  however  small  and  common,  I  cannot  feel 
that  I  am  important,  in  any  degree,'  he  said  half  laughing. 

'We  were  talking  of  lives,  and  things.' 

'Yes.     Excuse  me.     Well?' 

'I  think  I  see  the  crowns  of  two  hats,  down  below, 
which  belong  to  some  people  that  we  know.' 

'Is  it  they?'  he  exclaimed;  'and  I  wish  they  were 
farther  off.  Finish  what  you  were  going  to  say,  Miss 
Daisy !  Do  not  leave  me  in  ignorance  now,  after  bringing 
me  so  far.' 

'I  can  only  tell  you  what  I  think,'  I  said. 

'And  that  is  precisely  what  I  want  to  hear,'  he  an 
swered  earnestly. 


WAITING^  151 

'You  will  not  agree  to  it,  though,  and  I  do  not  know 
that  you  will  even  understand  me.  Mr.  Marshall,  I 
think  that  nothing  is  insignificant  which  is  done  for  God ; 
and  that  everything  which  is  not  done  for  him,  directly 
or  indirectly,  is  insignificant  or  worse.' 

'I  do  not  understand — '  he  said  thoughtfully.  'In 
what  sense  can  a  thing  be  "done  for  God?"  Unless  it  is 
building  a  church  or  founding  a  hospital.' 

'Very  few  churches  have  been  built  for  God,'  I  said. 
'At  least  I  think  so.' 

'Why,  the  old  monks — '  Mr.  Marshall  began.  But 
just  then  our  missing  companions  came  up,  and  he 
stopped.  They  had  been  lured  aside  from  the  way  by 
the  sight  of  some  game.  We  had  no  more  private  talk ; 
but  Hugh  Marshall  was  sober  and  thoughtful  all  the  rest 
of  the  day. 

He  sought  such  talks  with  me  now  whenever  he  could ; 
and  seemed  to  enter  into  them  like  a  man,  with  an  earnest 
purpose  to  know  the  truth  and  to  do  his  work  in  the  world 
if  he  could  find  it.  I  grew,  in  a  way,  very  fond  of  him. 
He  was  gentle,  well-bred,  happy-tempered,  extremely 
careful  of  my  welfare  and  pleasure,  and  regardful  of  my 
opinions,  which  I  suppose  flattered  my  vanity ;  well-read 
and  sensible;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  grew  more 
agreeable  every  day. 

The  accounts  from  the  seat  of  war  in  America  were  not 
very  stirring  just  then;  nothing  great  was  done  or  ex 
pected;  and  the  question  of  our  young  men's  return  to 
take  part  in  what  wras  going  on,  was  suffered  for  a  time 
to  fall  out  of  sight.  Meanwhile  we  left  Lucerne  and  went 
to  Geneva.  There  was  more  society,  in  a  quiet  way ;  and 
there  was  a  fresh  harvest  of  pleasure  to  be  reaped  by  me 
and  for  me  in  the  domains  of  nature. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

A    VICTORY. 

*  DAISY, — you  are  very  happy  1*  my  father  said  one 
day  when  I  was  sitting  with  him.  We  were  looking  out 
upon  the  lake,  which  our  windows  commanded;  but  I 
found  papa's  look  had  come  back  from  the  window  to  me. 

'You  are  very  happy!'  he  said. 

'Yes,  papa, —  pretty  happy.' 

'Pretty  happy?'  said  he,  putting  his  hand  under  my 
chin  and  turning  my  face  again  round  to  him,  and  then 
kissing  me.  '  Pretty  and  happy,  you  mean/ 

'No,  papa/  I  said  laughing; — 'I  don't  mean  that/ 

'It  is  true,  though,'  said  he.  'There  was  a  bit  of  a 
smile  upon  your  mouth  just  now — before  I  spoke; — what 
were  you  thinking  of?' 

'  Papa  it  is  so  glorious, — the  lake  and  its  shores  in  this 
sunlight/ 

'That  was  all?' 

'No,  not  quite  all,  papa/ 

'  I  thought  not.     What  was  the  rest  of  it,  Daisy  T 

'Papa,  I  was  thinking  with  joy,  that  I  belong  to  the 
wonderful  One  who  made  all  that;  and  so,  that  the  riches 
of  his  power  and  glory  are  in  a  certain  sense  mine; — • 
just  as  everything  good  in  you  is  mine,  papa/ 

He  folded  me  in  his  arms  and  kissed  me  again,  very 
fondly. 

'  There  is  not  much  good  in  me,  Daisy/ 

'  Yes,  papa, — for  me/ 

152 


A    VICTORY.  153 

*  But  there  is  a  great  deal  in  you, — for  somebody/ 

'For  you,  papa.' 

'  Nobody  else,  Daisy  ?' 

He  was  holding  me  close  in  his  arms  and  looking  down 
into  my  face.  I  believe  the  colour  must  have  come  into 
my  cheeks. 

1  Ah,  I  thought  so!'  he  said.  'Even  so  soon,  Daisy^ 
you  are  leaving  me  for  somebody  else.' 

'  Papa !'  I  exclaimed,  hiding  my  face  in  his  neck, — '  I 
will  never  leave  you,  till  you  say  so.' 

'  Till  I  say  so  ?  I  will  not  be  over  selfish,  my  dear 
child.  I  do  not  mean  that.' 

'  Who  is  it  to  be,  Daisy  ?'  my  mother's  voice  said  be 
hind  us. 

I  started  up  in  absolute  terror.  What  had  I  said  ? 
and  what  did  she  mean  ?  I  looked  at  her,  speechless. 

'  Well  ?'  she  said  laughing,  '  what  is  the  matter  ?  You 
need  not  turn  white  about  it.  Is  your  father  the  only 
one  to  be  in  your  confidence?  I  will  withdraw  then.' 

'Stop! — Mamma!'  I  cried;  'what  are  you  saying? 
There  is  no  confidence.  What  are  you  talking  about  ?' 

'  I  only  asked,  who  it  was  to  be,  Daisy  ?  I  thought  you 
were  talking  of  leaving  us,  and  naturally  concluded  it  was 
to  be  with  somebody.' 

'Mamma — oh,  mamma,  I  was  speaking  only  in  the 
abstract.' 

Mamma  laughed.  '  In  the  abstract !  Well  you  will 
have  to  come  from  generals  to  particulars,  Daisy.  Ab 
stractions  will  not  satisfy  anybody  long/ 

I  was  in  great  difficulty  and  great  confusion.  Papa 
drew  me  into  his  arms  again  and  kissed  my  lips  and 
cheeks  and  eyes,  as  if  he  would  have  hid  my  blushes. 

'  You  shall  be  as  abstract  as  you  like,'  he  said ;  '  and 
as  long  as  you  like.  I  give  you  leave.' 

'That's   nonsense,   though,  Mr.   Randolph/  said   my 


154  DAISY. 

mother,  standing  at  the  back  of  his  chair.  *  Daisy  can 
not  live  in  abstractions  for  ever.  She  must  choose,  and 
let  her  choice  be  known ;  and  the  sooner  the  better.  No 
body  can  guess  it  now.  She  has  been  abstract  enough.' 

I  was  in  the  greatest  perplexity  at  this  speech,  which 
conveyed  to  me  no  meaning  whatever.     Let  my  choice  be 
known  ?    Did  mamma  know  about  Mr.  Thorold  ?   I  knew 
she  could  not ;  but  then,  what  did  she  mean  ? 

'  There  is  no  hurry,  Felicia,'  said  papa. 

'  I  will  not  have  Daisy  marry  any  but  an  American, 
Mr.  Randolph.' 

'  Agreed.  There  is  no  present  likelihood  that  she 
will/ 

'But  when  we  get  to  Florence,  Mr.  Randolph,  and 
she  is  seen  in  the  great  world,  things  may  not  absolutely 
be  within  your  control — or  mine.' 

Mamma  stood  tapping  her  fingers  upon  the  back  of  my 
father's  chair,  and  I  thought  her  very  odd  indeed.  Her 
last  sentence  however  had  a  word  that  I  could  answer. 
I  stood  up  and  faced  her. 

'  Mamma,'  I  said,  '  I  am  going  to  say  something  that 
you  will  not  like.' 

'  Then  do  not  say  it,  Daisy.' 

'  I  would  not,  if  I  could  help  it.  But  you  know,  mam 
ma,  I  am  a  servant  of  God — I  have  not  changed, — and  I 
and  the  "great  world"  have  nothing  in  common.' 

'  Well  ? — '  said  mamma  calmly. 

I 1  do  not  belong  to  it.     I  have  no  place  in  it.' 

'No,  of  course.  You  are  just  out  of  school.  A  few 
months  more  will  change  all  that.' 

'No,  mamma, — please!' 

'Yes,  Daisy, — please!'  she  said,  tapping  my  cheek 
with  her  finger  and  then  leaning  forward  to  kiss  me  with 
smiling  lips.  '  You  do  not  know  what  you  are  talking 
about,  my  love.  You  are  made  for  the  great  world, 


A    VICTORY.  155 

Daisy.  There  is  no  danger  of  turning  your  head ;  so  I 
have  no  objection  to  explain  to  you  that  you  are  mag 
nificent.' 

'Mamma,  what  difference  can  that  possibly  make?' 

They  both  laughed  at  me,  and  mamma  said  I  would 
soon  see. 

'  But  mamma,'  I  urged,  '  that  world  and  I  have  noth 
ing  in  common.  I  should  be  out  of  my  place  in  it,  and 
it  would  find  me  something  strange.' 

'It  is  quite  time  to  have  that  altered  then,'  she  said. 
'  You  may  be  a  nun  if  you  choose  afterward ;  but  you 
shall  know  what  the  great  world  is,  before  you  give  it 
up ;  and  it  shall  know  you.  You  may  spend  your  odd 
minutes  in  considering  what  dress  you  will  wear  for  your 
first  appearance,  Daisy.  Don't  ask  me  for  a  white  cam 
bric  and  an  apron  with  pockets.' 

I  stood  in  much  perplexity,  not  resolved  what  I  ought 
to  say  next.     Papa  took  my  hand. 

'It  is  not  much,  to  shew  yourself,'  he  said  kindly. 
'  What  is  the  difficulty,  Daisy?' 

'  You  mean,  shew  myself  in  a  fine  dress  and  in  a  fine 
assembly,  papa?' 

I 1  don't  care  about  the  dress,'  he  answered. 

'  Yes,  but  you  do,  Mr.  Randolph,'  said  my  mother. 
*  Daisy  would  not  wear  a  print,  for  instance,  to  the 
Grand  Duke's  ball.  Your  complexion,  Daisy,  will  take 
any  sort  of  colour ;  but  rubies  will  look  especially  well 
on  this  skin,  and  pearls.1  She  touched  my  face  caress 
ingly  as  she  spoke,  pushing  back  the  hair  from  my 
temple  and  then  bringing  her  hand  down  to  take  hold 
of  my  chin.  'Little  fool!'  said  she  laughing — 'does  it 
dismay  you  ?' 

'Yes,  mamma, — the  thought  of  crossing  your  pleasure.' 

'You  shall  not  do  that.     Good  children  always  obey 

their  mothers.     I  am  not  going  to  have  you  settled  down 


156  DAISY. 

on  a  plantation  at  home,  east  or  west,  without  at  least  let 
ting  the  world  see  you  first.' 

'Daisy  does  not  want  jewels,'  said  my  father.  'She  is 
too  young.' 

'One  day  she  will,'  said  mamma;  'and  an  occasion 
might  make  it  proper,  even  now.  I  hope  so ;  for  I  want 
to  see  the  effect.' 

Mamma  went  away,  with  that;  and  I  sat  down  again 
by  papa's  side.  Not  to  dream  over  the  sunlight  on  the 
lake  any  more;  I  was  busy  with  cloudy  realities. 
"Children,  obey  your  parents  in  the  Lord."  O  why  did 
duty  bid  me  go  contrary  to  the  pleasure  of  mine!  I 
would  have  so  gladly  pleased  them  to  the  utmost  limits 
of  my  power.  Papa  was  watching  me,  though  I  did  not 
know  it,  and  presently  said  very  gently, 

'What  is  it,  Daisy?' 

'Papa,  I  want  to  please  you  and  mamma  so  much!' 

'  And  cannot  you  ?' 

'Not  in  this,  papa.' 

'Why?  Explain  to  me.  I  do  not  understand  your 
position,  Daisy.' 

'Papa,  I  am  a  servant  of  Christ;  and  a  servant  is 
bound  to  do  his  Master's  will.' 

'But  you  are  begging  the  question.' 

'If  you  will  have  patience,  papa,  I  will  try  to  tell  you 
how  it  is.  You  know  the  Lord  said,  "If  any  man  serve 
me,  let  him  follow  me."  You  know  how  he  lived  and 
what  he  lived  for.  Should  I  be  following  in  his  foot 
steps,  when  I  was  dressing  and  dancing  and  talking 
nonsense  or  nothings  and  getting  so  tired  that  I  could  do 
nothing  but  sleep  all  the  next  day?  And  papa,  that  is 
not  all.  It  is  so  difficult,  when  one  is  dressed  to  look 
well  and  others  are  dressed  in  like  manner,  or  for  the 
same  object,  I  mean, — it  is  very  difficult  not  to  wish  to 
look  well,  and  to  wish  to  look  better  than  other  people, 


A    VICTORY.  157 

and  to  be  glad  if  one  does ;  and  then  comes  the  desire  for 
admiration,  and  a  feeling  of  pride,  and  perhaps,  emula 
tion  of  somebody  else ;  and  one  comes  home  with  one's 
head  filled  with  poor  thoughts,  and  the  next  day  one  is 
fit  for  nothing.  And  is  that,  following  Christ?  who  went 
about  doing  good,  who  sought  not  his  own,  who  was  sepa 
rate  from  sinners.  And  he  said  to  his  people,  "Ye  are 
not  of  the  world,  even  as  I  am  not  of  the  world." 

'Why  Daisy,'  said  my  father,  passing  over  the  last 
part  of  my  speech,  '  how  do  you  know  all  this  ?  Have 
you  been  out  into  the  great  world  already?' 

1  No,  papa ;  but  if  the  little  wrorld  has  such  effects, 
what  must  the  great  one  do  ?' 

'  Pray,  what  little  world  have  you  seen  ?' 

*  The  little  world  of  West  Point,  papa.     And  some 
thing  of  the  world  of  Washington.' 

'  That  is  not  much  like  a  European  court,'  said  my 
father.     ' How  did  you  like  West  Point?' 
'  Very  much  indeed/ 
'  Did  you  go  to  balls  there  ?' 

*  O  no,  sir !  only  little  hops,  that  the  cadets  have  in  the 
evenings.' 

'  Was  Preston  there  then  ?' 

'  He  was  entering  upon  his  last  year  at  the  Academy/ 

'  Had  he  improved  ?' 

'  Papa. — I  thought  he  had  not.1 

My  father  smiled.  '  Which  of  these  young  friends  of 
ours  do  you  like  the  best,  Daisy  ?' 

'  Mr.  Marshall  and  Mr.  de  Saussure,  do  you  mean  ?' 

'  I  mean  them.' 

Something  in  papa's  tone  made  my  answer,  I  was  con 
scious,  a  little  constrained.  I  was  very  sorry,  and  could 
not  help  it. 

'  Papa — I  think — Don't  you  think,  Mr.  Marshall  has 
the  most  principle  ?' 

VOL.  II. — 14 


158  DAISY. 

'Do  you  always  like  people  best  that  are  the  best, 
Daisy  ?'  said  papa  laughing.  '  Because,  I  confess  I  have 
a  wicked  perverseness  to  do  the  other  way.' 

After  this  conversation  I  seemed  to  see  several  clouds 
rising  on  my  horizon  in  different  quarters.  I  thought  it 
was  wisest  not  to  look  at  them ;  but  there  was  one  that 
cast  a  shadow  always  on  the  spot  where  I  was.  It  was  so 
long  since  I  had  heard  from  Mr.  Thorold !  I  had  told 
him  he  must  not  write  to  me ;  but  at  the  same  time  he 
had  said  that  he  would,  and  that  he  would  enclose  a  letter 
to  my  father.  Neither  letter  had  come.  It  was  easy  to 
account  for ;  he  might  not  have  had  »  chance  to  write ; 
or  in  the  confusions  at  home  his  despatch  might  have 
been  detained  somewhere ;  it  might  reach  me  after  a  long 
interval,  or  it  might  never  reach  me !  There  was  nothing 
strange  about  it;  there  was  something  trying.  The 
hunger  of  my  heart  for  one  word  from  him  or  of  him, 
grew  sometimes  rapacious ;  it  was  a  perpetual  fast  day 
with  me,  and  nature  cried  out  for  relief.  That  cloud 
cast  a  shadow  always  over  me  now ;  only  except  when 
now  and  then  a  ray  from  the  eternal  sunshine  found  a 
rift  in  the  cloud,  or  shot  below  it,  and  for  a  moment  my 
feet  stood  in  light.  I  had  letters  from  the  Sandfords  ;  I 
had  even  one  from  Miss  Cardigan  ;  it  did  me  a  great  deal 
of  good,  but  it  broke  my  heart  too. 

Mamma  and  I  kept  off  the  subject  of  the  great  world 
for  a  while ;  I  think  my  father  purposely  prolonged  our 
stay  at  Geneva,  to  favour  my  pleasure;  and  I  hoped 
something  after  all  might  prevent  the  discussion  of  that 
subject  between  mamma  and  me,  at  least  for  the  present. 
So  something  did. 

I  came  down  one  afternoon  to  the  green  bank  behind 
the  house,  where  a  table  stood,  and  where-  we  took  our 
meals  when  the  weather  was  fine.  Our  three  young  men 
were  around  it  and  the  air  was  fragrant  with  the  fumes 


A    VICTORY.  159 

of  their  cigars.  The  cigars  of  two  of  them  were  tossed 
away  on  my  appearance.  Kansom  held  his  in  abeyance. 

'I  did  not  know  you  were  here,'  I  said,  'or  I  should 
have  scrupled  about  interrupting  anything  so  pleasant.' 

'You  do  not  think  it  pleasant,  confess,  Miss  Randolph,' 
said  De  Saussure,  drawing  near  to  look  over  the  progress 
of  my  work. 

'Do  you  dislike  it,  honestly,  Miss  Randolph?'  said 
Hugh  Marshall. 

'  I  don't  dislike  sugarplums,'  I  said. 

'Daisy  likes  nothing  that  ordinary  people  like,'  cried 
Ransom.  '  I  pity  the  man  that  will  marry  you,  Daisy ! 
He  will  live  within  a  hedge-row  of  restrictions.  You 
have  lived  among  Puritans  till  you're  blue.' 

I  lifted  my  eyes  to  Ransom  without  speaking.  What 
there  was  in  my  look,  I  do  not  know;  but  they  all 
laughed. 

'What  connection  is  there  between  cigars  and  sugar 
plums?'  Hugh  Marshall  asked  next. 

'None,  I  suppose,'  I  said.  'Only, — what  would  you 
think  of  a  lady  who  sat  down  regularly  to  eat  sugarplums 
three  or  four  times  a  day  and  the  last  thing  before  going 
to  bed?  and  who  evidently  could  not  live  without  them/ 

'  But  why  not  take  a  sugarplum,  or  a  cigar,  as  well  as 
other  things — wine,  or  fruit,  for  instance  ?'  said  Marshall. 
'  It  is  an  indulgence — but  we  all  allow  ourselves  indul 
gences  of  one  sort  or  another.' 

'Besides,  with  a  lady  it  is  different,'  said  De  Saussure. 
'We  poor  fellows  have  nothing  better  to  do,  half  the 
time.' 

I  had  no  wish  to  lecture  Mr.  de  Saussure,  but  I  could 
not  help  looking  at  him,  which  again  seemed  to  rouse 
their  amusement. 

'  You  seem  to  say,  that  is  an  insignificant  way  of  life,' 
Hugh  Marshall  added. 


160  DAISY. 

'  We'll  try  for  something  better  to-morrow,'  said  De 
Saussure.  '  We  have  laid  a  plan  to  go  to  see  the  lake  of 
Annecy,  Miss  Randolph,  if  we  can  secure  your  company 
and  approbation.  It  will  just  take  the  day  ;  and  I  pro 
pose  that  each  one  of  us  shall  go  prepared  to  instruct  the 
others,  at  luncheon,  as  to  his  or  her  views  of  the  worthiest 
thing  a  man  can  do  with  his  life; — cigars  being  ban 
ished/ 

'Cigars  are  not  banished  yet,'  said  Ransom,  taking 
delicate  whiffs  of  his  own,  which  sent  a  fragrant  wreath 
of  blue  smoke  curling  about  his  face. 

'What  do  you  say,  Miss  Randolph?'  Hugh  asked. 

'  Wouldn't  you  like  to  see  the  house  of  Eugene  Sue  ?' 
said  De  Saussure. 

'Who  was  Eugene  Sue?'  was  my  counter  question; 
and  they  laughed  again,  our  two  friends  with  sparkling 
eyes. 

'Look  here,  Daisy!'  said  Ransom,  suddenly  bringing 
down  his  chair  on  four  feet  and  sitting  upright, — '  I  wish 
you  would  put  an  end  to  this  indulgence  of  sight-seeing 
and  your  society,  and  send  these  gentlemen  home  with 
me.  I  must  go,  and  they  ought  to  go  too  and  do  their 
duty.  A  word  from  you  would  send  either  of  them 
straight  to  Beauregard's  headquarters.  Talk  of  in 
dulgences!' 

'  I  do  not  wish  to  send  either  of  them  there,'  was  my 
incautious  answer. 

'  Do  you  think  it  is  always  wrong  to  fight  ?'  De  Saussure 
asked. 

I  said  no,  with  an  internal  shiver  running  through  me 
from  head  to  foot.  They  went  into  a  mutual  gratula- 
tion  on  the  causes  for  fighting  that  existed  on  the  part  of 
the  Southern  States,  and  the  certainty  that  the  warlike 
spirit  of  the  North  would  "die  off  like  a  big  fungus,"  as 
one  of  them  phrased  it.  I  could  not  discuss  the  point 


A    VICTORY.  161 

with  them,  and  I  got  away  as  soon  as  it  could  gracefully 
be  done. 

But  something  in  this  little  talk,  or  in  what  went  be 
fore  it,  had  unsettled  me ;  and  I  slept  little  that  night. 
Anxieties  which  had  lain  pretty  still,  and  pain  which 
had  been  rather  quiet,  rose  up  together  and  shook  me. 
My  Bible  reading  had  given  me  a  word  which  for  a  time 
helped  the  confusion.  "  No  man  that  warreth  entangleth 
himself  with  the  affairs  of  this  life,  that  he  may  please 
him  who  hath  chosen  him  to  be  a  soldier." 

Not  to  be  entangled  with  the  affairs  of  this  life ! — and 
my  heart  and  soul  were  in  a  whirl  of  them ;  I  might  say, 
in  a  snarl.  And  true  the  words  were.  How  could  I  please 
Him  who  had  chosen  me  to  be  a  soldier,  with  my  heart 
set  on  my  own  pleasure  and  busy  with  my  own  fears  ?  I 
knew  I  could  not.  The  quiet  subjection  of  spirit  with 
which  I  left  Washington,  I  had  in  a  measure  lost  at  Lu 
cerne.  Somehow,  opposition  had  roused  me ;  and  the 
great  distance  and  the  impossibility  of  hearing  had  made 
my  imagination  restless ;  and  the  near  probability  that 
mamma  would  not  favour  our  wishes  had  caused  me  to 
take  a  sort  of  life  and  death  grasp  of  them.  The  man 
agement  of  myself,  that  I  had  resigned,  I  found  I 
had  not  resigned  it;  but  my  heart  was  stretching  out 
yearning  hands  to  Thorold  and  crying  for  a  sight  of  him. 
Meanwhile,  the  particular  work  that  I  had  to  do  in 
Switzerland  had  been  little  thought  of.  What  was  it  ? 

I  spent  that  night  waking.  My  room  looked  not  to 
the  lake,  but  over  an  extent  of  greensward  and  orchards, 
lit  up  now  by  a  bright  moon.  I  knelt  at  my  window, 
with  a  strong  recollection  of  former  times,  and  a  vain 
look  back  at  my  little  old  self,  the  childish  Daisy,  whose 
window  at  Melbourne,  over  the  honeysuckles,  had  been 
so  well  used  and  had  entertained  such  a  quiet  little  heart. 
Then  there  had  been  Miss  Pinshon's  Daisy ;  but  all  the 
U  *  L 


2  DAISY. 

Daisies  that  I  could  remember  had  been  quiet  compared 
to  this  one.  Must  joy  take  such  close  hold  on  sorrow? 
Must  hopes  always  be  twin  with  such  fears? — I  asked 
amid  bitter  tears.  But  tears  do  one  good ;  and  after  a 
little  indulgence  of  them,  I  brought  myself  up  to  look  at 
my  duty.  What  was  it  ? 

I  might  love,  and  fear,  and  hope ;  but  I  must  not  be 
'entangled.'  Not  so  concerned  about  myself,  either  for 
sorrow  or  joy,  that  I  should  fail  in  anything  to  discern 
the  Lord's  will,  or  be  unready,  or  be  slow,  to  do  it.  Not 
so  but  that  my  heart  should  be  free,  looking  to  God  for 
its  chief  strength  and  joy  always  and  everywhere, — yes, 
and  holding  my  hopes  at  his  hand,  to  be  given  up  if  he 
called  them  back.  With  Thorold  parted  from  me,  in  the 
thick  of  the  war  struggle,  almost  certain  to  be  rejected  by 
both  my  father  and  my  mother,  could  I  have  and  keep 
such  a  disentangled  heart  ?  The  command  said  yes,  and 
I  knew  there  were  promises  that  said  yes  too ;  but  for  a 
time  I  was  strangely  unwilling.  I  had  a  sort  of  supersti 
tious  feeling,  that  the  giving  up  of  my  will  about  these 
things,  and  of  my  will's  hold  of  them,  would  be  a  pre 
liminary  to  their  being  taken  away  from  me  in  good  earn 
est.  And  I  trembled  and  wept  and  shrank,  like  the 
coward  I  was. 

"  And  if  a  man  also  strive  for  masteries,  yet  is  he  not 
crowned,  except  he  strive  lawfully." 

1  God's  way  is  the  way,'  I  said  to  myself, — 'and  there  is 
no  other.  I  know,  in  what  I  said  to  mamma  that  after 
noon  about  dressing  and  going  into  the  world,  it  was  not 
all  principle.  There  was  a  mixture  of  selfish  disinclina 
tion  to  go  into  society,  because  of  Mr.  Thorold  and  my 
feeling  about  him.  My  thoughts  and  will  are  all  in  a 
tangle ;  and  they  must  be  disentangled.'  - 

The  struggle  was  long  and  sore  that  night.  Worse 
than  in  Washington ;  because  here  I  was  alone  among 


A    VICTORY.  16o 

those  who  did  not  favour  Mr.  Thorold,  and  were  opposed 
in  everything  to  his  and  my  views  and  wishes.  Tempta 
tion  said,  that  it  was  forsaking  their  cause,  to  give  up  my 
will  about  them.  But  there  is  no  temptation  that  takes 
us  and  God  has  not  provided  a  way  of  escape.  The 
struggle  was  sharp  ;  but  when  the  dawn  broke  over  the 
orchards  and  replaced  the  glory  of  the  moonlight,  my 
heart  was  quiet  again.  I  was  bent,  before  all  things, 
upon  doing  the  will  of  God  ;  and  had  given  up  myself 
and  all  my  hopes  entirely  to  his  disposal.  They  were 
not  less  dear  hopes  for  that,  though  now  the  rest  of  my 
heart  was  on  something  better ;  on  something  which  by 
no  change  or  contingency  can  disappoint  or  fail.  I  was 
disentangled.  I  stood  free.  And  I  was  happier  than 
I  had  been  in  many  a  long  day.  "The  peace  of  God." 
If  people  could  only  possibly  know  what  that  means ! 


CHAPTER  XII. 

AN  ENGAGEMENT. 

THE  expedition  to  Annecy  had  been  determined  on, 
and  papa  and  mamma  were  to  go.  I  went  in  a  carriage 
with  them,  while  the  others  were  on  horseback ;  so  I  had 
a  nice  quiet  time,  which  suited  me ;  a  time  of  curious 
secret  enjoyment.  It  seemed  as  if  a  gratulation  came  to 
me  from  every  blade  of  grass  and  every  ray  of  sunlight ; 
because  I  was  a  servant  of  God,  and  as  wholly  given  up 
to  do  'his  will  as  they  were.  There  was  communion  be 
tween  them  and  me.  Of  those  "  ministers  of  his,  that  do 
his  pleasure,"  I  would  be  one ;  to  do  what  he  had  for  me 
to  do  in  the  world,  should  be  my  care  and  joy  at  once ; 
and  the  care  of  myself — I  left  it  to  him.  One  goes  light 
when  one  does  not  carry  that  burden. 

'  Daisy,  you  are  dreadfully  sober/  said  mamma. 

'  Not  dreadfully,  mamma,  I  hope/  I  said  with  a  smile. 

'You  are  pale  too/  she  went  on.  'Mr.  Randolph, 
Daisy  thinks  too  much.' 

'  It  is  an  old  weakness  of  hers/  said  papa.  '  I  am 
afraid  it  is  beyond  our  reach,  Felicia/ 

'  I  will  break  it  up  for  to-day/  said  mamma  as  the  car 
riage  stopped  and  Mr.  de  Saussure  came  to  the  steps. 
'  Charles,  Daisy  has  got  into  a  brown  study.  I  give  her 
to  you  in  charge,  not  to  allow  anything  of  the  sort  again 
till  we  get  home.  And  order  luncheon  at  once,  will  you. 
I  can't  go  walking  or  sight-seeing  without  that/ 

Mr.  de  Saussure  gave  me  his  arm  and  took  me  with 

164 


AN  ENGAGEMENT.  165 

him,  as  he  said,  to  help  about  the  luncheon.  It  was  soon 
spread  out  of  doors,  beneath  the  shade  of  some  large 
trees,  and  we  gathered  round  it  in  holiday  mood.  Bread 
was  sweet,  with  that  page  of  beauty  spread  out  before  my 
eyes  all  the  time ;  for  between  the  boles  of  the  trees  and 
under  their  hanging  branches  I  could  see  the  glittering 
waters  of  the- lake  and  a  bit  of  its  distant  shore.  I  did 
not  go  into  a  brown  study,  however,  not  wishing  to  give 
occasion  to  Mr.  de  Saussure's  good  offices.  I  thought  he 
had  quite  enough  enjoyed  his  charge  during  the  business 
before  luncheon.  To  my  disappointment,  after  the  meal 
papa  declared  himself  tired  and  went  to  lie  down. 

'We  have  forgotten  our  agreement,'  said  Mr.  de  Saus- 
sure.  '  At  luncheon,  we  were  all  to  tell,  Mrs.  Randolph, 
what  we  think  the  worthiest  thing  to  live  for.' 

'Were  we?'  said  mamma.  'That  sounds  like  one  of 
Daisy's  problems.' 

'It  is  not  hers,  however,'  he  rejoined;  'any  further 
than  that  I  am  mainly  curious  to  know  what  she  will  say 
about  it.' 

'  You  ought  to  be  equally  anxious  about  my  opinion,  it 
seems  to  me,'  mamma  said. 

'Do  I  not  know  it  already?  Pour  la  patrie, — does 
anything  go  before  that  in  your  mind?  Honestly,  Mrs. 
Randolph, — is  it  not  in  your  opinion  the  worthiest  thing 
anybody  can  do,  to  fight,  or  to  die — still  better, — for 
the  independence  of  the  South?' 

'You  do  not  think  so,'  said  mamma,  'or  you  would  be 
there.' 

'  I  am  selfish,  and  have  selfish  hopes  and  fears.  But 
you  think  so?' 

'Let  us  hear  what  you  consider  the  worthiest  object  of 
life,'  said  mamma. 

'It  is  not  my  turn.  Miss  Randolph,  your  mother  has 
spoken — the  next  honour  belongs  to  you.' 


166  DAISY. 

'The  worthiest  object  of  life?'  I  said.  'Is  that  the 
question  ?' 

'It  will  not  be  a  question,  when  you  have  answered  it,' 
De  Saussure  said  gallantly. 

'You  will  not  like  my  answer,'  I  said.  'I  should  think 
it  would  be,  To  please  God.' 

'  But  that  is  not  an  answer,  pardon  me.  Of  course, 
the  Supreme  Being  is  pleased  to  see  people  following  the 
worthiest  object;  and  the  question  is,  What  is  the 
worthiest?' 

I  did  not  like  to  hear  Mr.  de  Saussure's  tongue  touch 
themes  where  it  was  not  at  home.  The  conversation  was 
too  serious  for  light  handling;  but  I  could  not  get  out  of  it. 

'You  will  find  that  my  answer  includes  all,'  I  said. 
'It  is  impossible  to  lay  down  a  rule,  as  to  particulars, 
that  will  fit  all  cases.  It  is  the  best  thing  one  man  can 
do,  to- lay  down  his  life  for  his  country;  the  best  thing 
another  man  can  do  is  to  stay  at  home  and  devote  him 
self  to  the  care  of  an  infirm  mother  or  father;  but  in 
either  case,  for  God.' 

'I  do  not  understand — '  said  Mr.  Marshall. 

'Suppose  the  one  goes  to  the  battlefield  for  his  own 
glory,  and  the  other  stays  at  home  for  his  own  ease?' 

'Don't  you  think  glory  is  a  thing  to  live  for?'  said 
Ransom,  with  an  indignant  expression  that  reminded  me 
painfully  of  our  childish  days. 

'Yes,'  I  said  slowly, — '  I  do ;  but  not  the  praise  of  men, 
which  is  so  often  mistaken.  The  glory  that  comes  from 
God, — that  is  worth  living  for.' 

'What  an  incomprehensible  girl  you  are!'  Hansom 
answered  impatiently. 

'She'll  mend — '  said  mamma. 

'But  Miss  Randolph,'  said  Mr.  Marshall,  'the  care  of 
infirm  relatives,  a  father  or  a  mother,  can  anything  make 
that  unworthy?' 


AN  ENGAGEMENT.  167 

'Not  in  itself/  I  said;  '  but  suppose  a  man's  duty  calls 
him  away?  It  might.  You  can  suppose  such  a  case/ 

'I  see  what  I  have  to  expect/  mamma  said  with  a 
laugh.  'Daisy  will  take  care  of  me,  until  some  duty 
calls  her  away.  I  will  not  count  upon  you,  Daisy,  any 
longer  than  that.  De  Saussure,  what  is  your  estimate  of 
life's  objects?  On  honour,  now!' 

'  I  can  think  of  nothing  better  than  to  live  for  some 
body  that  one  loves/  he  said. 

'I  knew  you  would  say  that/  she  rejoined.  'Hugh, 
what  do  you  say?' 

'I  need  to  go  to  school,  Mrs.  Randolph/ 

'Well,  go  to  school  to  Daisy/  said  mamma  with  another 
light  laugh.  '  And  come,  let  us  walk,  or  we  shall  not 
have  time.  Eugene  Sue,  is  it,  that  we  are  going  to  see?' 

*  Only  his  house,  madam.  Miss  Randolph,  I  am 
charged,  you  know,  with  your  studies  to-day.' 

I  was  not  in  the  mood  of  accepting  Mr.  de  Saussure's 
arm,  but  just  then  it  was  the  only  thing  to  do.  My  mother 
and  Ransom  and  Hugh  Marshall  were  presently  some 
little  distance  behind,  an  interval  separating  us;  and 
Mr.  de  Saussure  and  I  followed  the  shores  of  the  lake, 
taking  such  counsel  together  as  our  somewhat  diverse 
moods  made  possible.  I  was  thinking,  what  a  life  of 
hard  work  the  two  prophets  Elijah  must  have  known  in 
their  time ;  he  who  was  first  of  the  name,  and  his  greater 
successor,  John  the  Baptist.  Each  of  them  worked 
alone,  against  a  universal  tide  of  adverse  evil  that  flooded 
the  land.  If  I  found  it  so  sorrowful  to  be  alone  in  my 
family  and  society,  what  must  they  have  felt  with  the 
whole  world  against  them.  And  Elijah's  spirit  did  once 
give  out,  brave  as  he  was:  "  It  is  enough,  O  Lord ;  take 
away  my  life."  I  thought  I  could  understand  it.  To 
be  all  alone ;  to  have  no  sympathy  in  what  is  dearest  to 
you ;  to  face  opposition  and  scorn  and  ridicule  and  con- 


168  DAISY. 

tumely  while  trying  to  do  people  good  and  bring  them  to 
good ;  to  have  only  God  on  your  side,  with  the  bitter 
consciousness  that  those  whom  you  love  best  are  arrayed 
against  him ;  your  family  and  country ; — I  suppose  no 
body  can  tell  how  hard  that  is  to  endure,  but  he  who  has 
tasted  it.  My  taste  of  it  was  light  indeed ;  but  a  half 
hour  with  Miss  Cardigan  would  have  been  inexpressibly 
good  to  me  that  day.  So  I  thought,  as  I  walked  along 
the  bank  of  the  lake  with  Mr.  de  Saussure ;  and  then  I 
remembered  "  my  hiding-place  and  my  shield." 

'  You  are  very  silent  to-day,  Miss  Randolph,'  said  my 
companion  at  length.  I  may  remark,  in  passing,  that  he 
had  not  been. 

'  It  is  enough  to  look,  and  to  think,'  I  answered,  '  with 
such  a  sight  before  one's  eyes.' 

1  Do  you  know,'  said  he,  '  such  independence  of  all 
the  exterior  world, — of  mortals,  I  mean, — is  very  tanta 
lizing  to  those  disregarded  mortals  ?' 

'  Do  you  find  it  so  ?  It  is  fair  then  to  presume,  in  a 
place  like  this,  that  what  takes  up  my  attention  has  not 
so  much  charm  for  you.' 

'  That  is  severe !'  he  said.  '  Do  you  think  I  do  not  see 
all  this  beauty  before  us  ?  But  pardon  me, — have  you 
seen  it?' 

'  I  have  tasted  it  every  step  of  the  way,  Mr.  de  Saus 
sure.' 

'  I  am  rebuked,'  he  'said.  '  You  must  excuse  me — I 
had  counted  upon  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  enjoy  it.' 

'  One's  enjoyment  is  not  always  heightened  by  giving 
it  expression,'  I  said. 

'  No,  I  know  that  is  your  theory — or  practice,'  he  said. 
'  My  sisters  are  always  so  vehement  in  their  praises  of 
anything  they  like,  that  nobody  else  has.  a  chance  to 
know  whether  he  likes  it  or  not.  I  generally  incline  to 
the  not: 


AN  ENGAGEMENT.  169 

I  added  no  remark  upon  Mr.  de  Saussure's  or  his  sisters' 
peculiar  way  of  enjoying  themselves. 

'But  you  are  uncommonly  silent,'  he  went  on  pres 
ently; — 'triste,  reveuse.  It  is  impossible  not  to  suffer 
from  it, — in  one  who  values  your  words  as  much  as  I 
do.' 

'  Why  I  thought  you  were  apt  to  look  upon  things 
from  a  different  point  of  view, — not  from  mine,'  I  said. 

'  I  must  be  wrong  then — always.  Miss  Randolph,  you 
are  of  a  gentle  and  kind  disposition, — I  wish  you  would 
be  my  Mentor!' 

'I  am  not  old  enough  to  be  Mentor,'  I  said. 

'  To  be  mine !  Yes,  you  are,'  he  rejoined  eagerly.  '  I 
would  not  have  you  a  day  older.' 

*  I  shall  be  that  to-morrow,'  I  said  laughing. 

'But  if  you  were  mine,'  he  said,  changing  his  tone, 
'every  day  would  only  add  to  your  power  and  your 
qualifications  for  doing  me  good.  And  I  know  that  is 
what  you  love.' 

'  I  cannot  see  that  I  have  done  you  the  least  good,  so 
far,  Mr.  de  Saussure,'  I  said,  amused.  *I  think  you 
must  be  mistaken.' 

'Will  you  try,  Daisy?'  he  said  insinuatingly,  and 
stopping  short  in  our  walk. 

'  Try  what,  Mr.  de  Saussure  ?'  I  said,  beginning  to  be 
bewildered. 

'  Surely  you  know !  You  are  a  little  cruel.  But  you 
have  the  right.  Be  my  Mentor — be  my  darling — 
promise  to  be  one  of  these  days,  my  wife.' 

I  dropped  my  arm  from  Mr.  de  Saifssure's  and  stood 
in  a  maze,  I  might  say  with  truth,  frightened.  Up  to 
that  minute,  no  suspicion  of  his  purpose  or  mind  re 
garding  me  had  entered  my  thoughts.  I  suppose  I  was 
more  blind  than  I  ought  to  have  been ;  and  the  truth 
was,  that  in  the  utter  preoccupation  of  my  own  heart, 

VOL.  II. — 15 


170  DAISY. 

the  idea  that  I  could  like  anybody  else  but  Mr.  Thorold 
or  that  anybody  else  could  like  me,  had  been  simply  out 
of  sight.  I  knew  myself  so  thoroughly  beyond  any 
body's  reach,  the  prior  possession  of  the  ground  was  so 
perfect  and  settled  a  thing,  that  I  did  not  remember  it 
was  a  fact  hidden  from  other  eyes  but  mine.  And  I  had 
gone  on  in  my  supposed  walled-in  safety  ; — and  here  was 
somebody  presuming  within  the  walls,  who  might  allege 
that  I  had  left  the  gate  open.  However,  to  do  Mr.  de 
Saussure  justice,  I  never  doubted  for  a  moment  that  his 
heart  might  be  in  any  danger  of  breaking  if  I  thrust  him 
out.  But  for  all  that,  I  lost  my  breath  in  the  first  min 
ute  of  discovery  of  what  I  had  been  doing. 

'You  hesitate,'  said  he.  'You  shall  command  me, 
Daisy.  I  will  go  instantly,  hard  as  it  would  be,  and  give 
all  my  power  to  furthering  the  war  at  home ; — or,  if  you 
bid  me,  I  will  keep  out  of  it,  which  would  be  harder 
still,  were  you  not  here  instead  of  there.  Speak,  won't 
you, — a  good  word  for  me  ?' 

'  You  must  do  nothing  at  my  command,  Mr*  de  Saus 
sure,'  I  said.  '  I  have  known  you  only  as  mamma's  and 
my  brother's  friend ; — I  never  thought  you  had  any  other 
feeling  ;  and  I  had  no  other  towards  you.' 

'  Mrs.  Randolph  is  my  friend,'  he  said  eagerly.  '  She 
does  me  the  honour  to  wish  well  to  my  suit.  She  looks 
at  it,  not  with  my  eyes,  but  with  the  eyes  of  prudence ; 
and  she  sees  the  advantages  that  such  an  arrangement 
would  secure.  I  believe  she  looks  at  it  with  patriotic 
eyes  too.  You  know  my  estates  are  nearly  adjoining  to 
yours.  I  may  say  too,  that  our  families  are  worthy  one 
of  another.  But  there,  I  am  very  conscious,  my  worthi 
ness  ends.  I  am  not  personally  deserving  of  your  regard 
— I  can  only  promise  under  your  guidance  to  become 
so.' 

A  light  broke  upon  me. 


AN  ENGAGEMENT.  171 

'  Mr.  de  Saussure' — I  began ;  but  he  said  hastily,  '  Let 
us  go  on — they  are  coming  near  us;'  and  I  took  his 
offered  arm  again,  not  wishing  more  than  he  to  have 
spectators  or  hearers  of  our  talk;  and  now  that  the  talk 
was  begun,  I  wished  to  end  it. 

'Mr.  de  Saussure,'  I  said,  'you  are  under  a  serious 
mistake.  You  speak  of  my  estates ;  I  must  inform  you 
that  I  shall  never,  under  any  circumstances,  be  an  heiress. 
Whoever  marries  me — if  I  ever  marry — will  marry  a 
poor  girl.' 

'  Pardon  me — '  he  began. 

'  Yes,'  said  I  interrupting  him  ; — '  I  knowT  of  what  I 


'  What  can  you  mean,  Miss  Randolph  ?' 

'  I  assure  you,  I  mean  exactly  what  I  say.  Pray  take 
it  so.' 

'  But  I  do  not  understand  you.' 

'  Understand  this, — that  I  shall  be  a  penniless  woman  ; 
or  something  very  like  it.  I  am  making  no  jest.  I  am 
no  heiress — as  people  think.' 

'  But  you  confound  me,  Miss  Randolph,'  he  said,  look 
ing  both  curious  and  incredulous.  '  May  I  ask,  what  can 
be  the  explanation  of  your  words  ?  I  know  your  Mag 
nolia  property — and  it  is,  I  assure  you,  a  very  noble  one, 
and  unencumbered.  Nothing  can  hinder  you  from  in 
heriting  it — at  some,  we  hope,  of  course,  very  distant 
day.' 

'Nevertheless,'  I  said,  'if  I  live  to  see  that  day,  I 
shall  be  very  poor,  Mr.  de  Saussure.' 

'You  will  condescend  to  explain  so  extraordinary  a 
statement  ?' 

'  Is  not  my  word  sufficient  ?' 

'  Pardon  me,  a  thousand  times ;  but  you  must  see  that 
I  am  in  a  difficulty.  Against  your  word  I  have  the 
word  of  two  others — your  mother  and  your  brother,  who 


172  DAISY. 

both  assure  me  of  the  contrary.  May  it  not  be,  that  they 
know  best  ?' 

'  No,  Mr.  de  Saussure ;  for  the  fact  depends  on  some 
thing  out  of  their  knowledge.' 

1  It  is  out  of  my  knowledge  too,'  he  said. 

I  hesitated  a  little,  and  then  said, 

'  I  will  explain  myself,  Mr.  de  Saussure,  trusting  to 
your  honour  to  keep  silence  about  it.  I  am  a  friend  of 
the  coloured  people.' 

*  Oh ! — So  are  we  all,'  he  said. 

'And  I  will  never  be  rich  at  their  expense.' 

1  By  their  means,  is  not  necessarily  at  their  expense/ 
he  said  gently. 

'It  is  at  their  expense,'  I  repeated.  'I  do  not 
choose  to  be  rich  so.  And  the  religion  I  live  by,  forbids 
me  to  do  to  others  as  I  would  not  like  they  should  do  to 
me.' 

'  I  am  sure,  by  that  rule,  your  dependants  at  Magnolia 
would  implore  you  not  to  give  them  over  to  other  hands. 
They  will  never  have  so  kind  a  mistress.  Don't  you 
see?'  he  said  with  the  same  insinuating  gentleness. 

'  I  shall  give  them  over  to  no  other  hands.  I  would 
make  them  as  free  as  myself.' 

'Make  them  free!' 

'  That  is  what  I  would  do,' 

'  You  cannot  mean  it,'  he  said. 

'You. see,  Mr.  de  Saussure,  that  I  shall  be  very  poor.' 

'You  are  playing  with  me.' 

'I  am  very  serious.' 

'It  is  rank  Northern  madness!'  he  said  to  himself. 
'  And  it  is  Mrs.  Randolph's  daughter.  The  thing  is  im 
possible.' 

'  It  is  Mrs.  Randolph's  daughter,'  I  said  withdrawing 
my  hand  from  his  arm.  '  I  pray  you  not  to  forget  it.' 

'Pray,  forgive  me!'  he  said  eagerly.     'I  was  bewil- 


AN  ENGAGEMENT.  173 

dered,  and  am  yet.  I  did  not  know  where  I  was.  It 
seems  to  me  I  cannot  have  heard  you  aright/ 

'  Quite  right,  Mr.  de  Saussure.' 

*  But  just  reflect!'  he  said.  'These  creatures,  whose 
cause  you  are  advocating,  they  are  but  half  human ;  they 
cannot  take  care  of  themselves ;  their  very  happiness  is 
identified  with  their  present  position.' 

'It  is  not  the  view  they  take  of  it.' 

'They  are  incapable  of  forming  any  judgment  on  the 
matter.' 

'At  least  they  know  what  they  mean  by  happiness,'  I 
said;  'and  in  their  mouths  it  is  not  a  synonym  with 
slavery.  And  if  your  words  are  true,  Mr.  de  Saussure, 
in  the  case  of  some  of  those  poor  people, — and  I  know 
they  are, — it  is  one  of  the  worst  things  that  can  be  said 
of  the  system.  If  some  of  them  are  brought  so  low  as 
to  be  content  with  being  slaves,  we  have  robbed  them  of 
their  humanity.' 

'It  is  absolutely  Northern  radicalism!'  said  Mr.  de 
Saussure  to  himself. 

'No,'  I  said, — 'it  is  Christian  justice  and  mercy.' 

'You  will  allow  me  to  represent  to  you,  without  any 
presumption,  that  there  are  very  many  Christians,  both 
at  the  South  and  North,  who  do  not  look  at  the  matter 
with  your  eyes.' 

'I  suppose  they  have  never  really  seen  it,'  I  answered 
sadly.  '  People  that  have  always  lived  close  to  something, 
often  do  not  know  what  it  is.  My  father  has  never  seen 
it — nor,  my  mother,  /have.' 

'They  would  not  agree  with  you;  your  views  would 
not  harmonize  with  theirs.' 

'  And  therefore  I  trust  to  your  honour  to  keep  silence 
respecting  mine.' 

'I  am  bound,'  he  answered  gloomily ;  and  we  walked  a 
few  minutes  in  silence. 

15* 


174  DAISY. 

'You  will  change  your  manner  of  thinking,  Miss 
Randolph,'  he  began  again.  'Yours  is  the  vision  of  in 
experienced  eyes  and  of  impulsive  generosity.  It  will 
not  remain  what  it  is.' 

'Inexperienced  eyes  see  the  clearest,'  I  answered. 
'The  habit  of  wrong  is  no  help  towards  judging  of  the 
right.' 

'  You  will  think  differently  by  and  by.' 

'  Not  while  I  am  a  servant  of  God  and  he  commands 
me  to  break  every  yoke,  to  do  as  I  would  be  done  by,  to 
look  not  on  my  own  things,  but  also  on  the  things  of 
others.  We  owe  our  poor  people  not  liberty  only,  but 
education,  and  every  advantage  for  restored  civilization; 
— a  great  long  debt.' 

'  And  is  this  the  reason  why  you  will  not  look  favour 
ably  on  my  suit  ?'  he  said  after  another  interval. 

'  It  is  a  reason  why  you  will  not  wish  to  prosecute  it, 
Mr.  de  Saussure.' 

'  You  are  very  severe!'  he  said.  'Do  you  really  think 
that?' 

'  You  know  it  is  true.     I  do  not  wish  to  be  severe.' 

'  Have  you  then  no  kindness  for  me  ?' 

'Why  do  you  ask?' 

'  You  are  so  dreadfully  calm  and  cool !'  he  said.  '  One 
has  no  chance  with  you.  If  this  matter  were  not  in  the 
way,  would  you  have  any  kindness  for  me,  Daisy  ?  Is 
this  all  that  separates  us  ?' 

'  It  is  quite  enough,  Mr.  de  Saussure.  It  is  as  powerful 
with  you  as  with  me.' 

'  I  am  too  late,  I  suppose !'  he  said,  as  it  seemed  to  me, 
rather  spitefully.  As  he  was  too  late,  it  was  no  use  to 
tell  him  he  could  never  have  been  early  enough.  I  was 
silent;  and  we  walked  on  unenjoyingly.  Vexation 
was  working  in  his  countenance,  and  a  trace  of  that  same 
spite ;  I  was  glad  when  we  came  to  the  end  of  our  way 


AN  ENGAGEMENT.  175 

and  the  other  members  of  our  party  closed  up  and  joined 
us. 

As  I  cared  nothing  for  the  house  they  had  come  to  see, 
I  excused  myself  from  going  any  nearer,  and  sat  down 
upon  the  bank  at  a  little  distance  while  they  gratified 
their  curiosity.  The  view  of  the  lake  and  lake  shores 
here  was  very  lovely ;  enough  to  satisfy  any  one  for  a 
long  while ;  but  now,  my  thoughts  only  rested  there  for 
a  minute,  to  make  a  spring  clear  across  the  Atlantic. 
Mr.  Thorold  was  very  close  to  me,  and  I  was  very  far 
from  him ;  that  was  the  burden  of  my  heart.  So  close 
to  me  he  had  been,  that  I  had  never  dreamed  any  one 
could  think  of  taking  his  place.  I  saw  I  had  been  a 
simpleton.  Up  to  that  day  I  had  no  suspicion  that  Mr. 
de  Saussure  liked  me  more  than  would  be  convenient; 
and  indeed  I  had  no  fear  now  of  his  heart  being  broken ; 
but  I  saw  that  his  unlucky  suit  made  a  complication  in 
my  affairs  that  they  certainly  did  not  need.  Mamma  ap 
proved  it;  yes,  I  had  no  doubt  of  that.  I  knew  of  a 
plantation  of  his,  Briery  Bank,  only  a  few  miles  distant 
from  Magnolia  and  reputed  to  be  very  rich  in  its  incom 
ings.  And,  no  doubt  Mr.  de  Saussure  would  have  liked 
the  neighbourhood  of  Magnolia,  and  to  add  its  harvest 
to  his  own.  And  all  the  while  I  belonged  to  Mr.  Thorold 
and  nobody  else  could  have  me.  My  thoughts  came  back 
to  that  refrain  with  a  strong  sense  of  pain  and  gladness. 
However,  the  gladness  was  the  strongest.  How  lovely 
the  lake  was,  with  its  sunlit  hills ! 

In  the  midst  of  my  musings,  Hugh  Marshall  came  and 
threw  himself  on  the  ground  at  my  side.  I  welcomed 
him  with  a  smile ;  for  I  liked  him ;  he  was  a  friend ;  and 
I  thought, — This  one  does  not  wrant  me  at  any  rate. 
I  was  a  great  simpleton,  I  suppose. 

1 1  was  afraid  you  had  deserted  me  to-day,'  he  said. 

'  I  am  sure,  it  is  I  who  might  rather  have  thought  that 


176  DAISY. 

of  you,'  I  answered ;  and  indeed  I  had  wished  for  his 
company  more  than  once. 

'You  could  not  have  thought  it!'  he  said. 

'  Have  you  satisfied  your  curiosity  with  Eugene  Sue's 
house?' 

'  I  do  not  care  to  look  at  anything  that  you  don't  like,' 
he  replied. 

'  Cigars  ? — '  I  suggested. 

'  No  indeed.  If  you  disapprove  of  them,  I  shall  have 
no  more  fellowship  with  them.' 

1  That  is  going  quite  too  far,  Mr.  Marshall.  A  man 
should  never  give  up  anything  that  he  does  not  disap 
prove  of  himself.' 

'  Not  to  please  somebody  he  wishes  to  please  ?' 

'  Of  course/  I  said,  thinking  of  Mr.  Thorold, — '  there 
might  be  such  cases.  But  in  general.' 

1  This  is  one  of  the  cases.     I  wish  to  please  you.' 

'  Thank  you,'  I  said  earnestly.  '  But  indeed  I  should 
be  more  pleased  to  have  you  follow  your  own  sense  of 
right  than  any  notion  of  another,  even  of  myself.' 

'  You  are  not  like  any  other  woman  I  ever  saw/  he 
said  smiling.  '  Do  you  know,  they  all  have  a  passion  for 
command  ?  There  are  De  Saussure's  mother  and  sisters, 
— they  do  not  leave  him  a  moment's  peace,  because  he  is 
not  at  home  fighting.' 

I  was  silent,  and  hoped  that  Mr.  de  Saussure's  friends 
might  now  perhaps  get  him  away  from  Geneva  at 
least. 

'  You  think  with  them,  that  he  ought  to  go  ?'  Hugh 
Marshall  said  presently  with  a  shadow,  I  thought,  on  his 
words. 

'  I  would  not  add  one  more  to  the  war/  I  answered. 

*  Your  mother  does  not  think  so.' 

'No.' 

'Mrs.  Randolph  has  almost  signified  to  me  that  her 


AN  ENGAGEMENT.  177 

favour  will  depend  on  my  taking  such  a  course,  and  doing 
all  I  can  to  help  on  the  Confederacy/ 

'Yes,  I  know,'  I  said  rather  sadly;  'mamma  feels 
very  strongly  about  it.' 

'You  do  not?' 

'  Yes,  Mr.  Marshall,  I  do ;  but  it  is  in  a  different  way/ 

'  I  wish  you  would  explain,'  he  said  earnestly. 

'  But  I  do  not  like  to  set  myself  in  opposition  to  mam 
ma  ;  and  you  ought  to  do  what  you  yourself  think  right, 
Mr  ..Marshall ;  not  what  either  of  us  thinks.' 

'  What  do  you  think  is  right  ?'  he  repeated  eagerly. 

'  My  thoughts  do  not  make  or  unmake  anything.' 

'  They  make — they  will  make,  if  you  will  let  them — 
the  rule  of  my  life,'  he  answered.  '  I  have  no  dearer  wish/ 

I  was  struck  with  dismay. 

'Please  do  not  say  that!'  I  said  trembling.  'My 
thoughts  should  rule  only  my  own  life;  not  anybody 
else's.' 

'One  more!'  said  Hugh  Marshall.  'They  must  rule 
one  more.  There  will  be  one,  somewhere,  whose  highest 
pleasure  will  be  to  please  you,  as  long  as  he  has  a  life  to 
give  to  it. — Will  you  take  mine  ?'  he  said  after  a  pause 
and  in  a  lower  tone.  '  I  offer  it  to  you  undividedly.' 

It  cannot  be  told,  the  sickness  of  heart  which  came 
over  me.  The  mistake  I  had  made  in  my  blindness,  the 
sorrowfulness  of  it,  the  pain  I  must  give,  the  mischief  it 
might  do,  I  saw  it  all  at  once.  For  a  while,  I  could  not 
find  words  to  speak.  Hugh  studied  my  face,  and  must 
have  seen  no  ground  of  hope  there,  for  he  did  not  speak 
either.  He  was  quite  silent  and  left  it  to  me.  Oh,  Lake 
of  Annecy !  what  pain  comes  to  me  now  with  the  remem 
brance  of  your  sweet  waters. 

I  turned  at  last  and  laid  my  hand  upon  Hugh's  arm. 
He  did  not  mistake  me ;  he  took  my  hand  in  his,  and 
stood  looking  at  me  with  a  face  as  grave  as  my  own. 

M 


178  DAISY. 

'  What  is  the  matter,  Daisy  ?'  he  said  sorrowfully. 

*  I  have  made  a  miserable  mistake!'  I  said.  'Cannot 
we  be  friends,  Mr.  Marshall  ? — dear  friends,  and  nothing 
more  ?' 

4  Why  "  nothing  more"  ?' 

'I  can  be  no  more  to  you/  I  answered. 

<  Why  not?' 

'I  have  not  the  feeling.  I  have  not  the  power.  I 
would,  if  I  could.' 

'It  is  I  who  have  made  a  mistake,'  he  said,  as  he 
dropped  my  hand. 

'  No,  it  is  I,'  I  said  bitterly.  '  I  have  been  childishly 
wrong.  I  have  been  foolish.  It  never  entered  my 
thought,  that  you — or  anybody — liked  me,  except  as  a 
friend.' 

'  And  he  got  your  heart  without  your  knowing  it  ?' 

'Who?'  said  I,  frightened. 

'De  Saussure,  of  course.' 

'  De  Saussure !  No  indeed,  I  would  a  thousand  times 
rather  give  it  to  you,  Hugh.  But,  I  cannot.' 

'  Then  it  will  come,'  said  he  taking  my  hand  again  ; 
'if  you  can  say  that,  it  will  come.  I  will  wait.' 

'  No,  it  will  not  come,'  I  said,  as  we  looked  one  another 
in  the  face.  '  I  can  be  only  a  friend.  May  I  not  be 
that?' 

He  eyed  me  keenly,  I  saw,  and  my  eyes  for  a  moment 
fell.  He  let  go  my  hand  again. 

'  Then  I  understand,' — he  said.  '  Shall  we  go  ?  I  be 
lieve  it  is  time.' 

'  Where  is  mamma  ?'  I  asked,  looking  about  in  some 
bewilderment  now. 

'  Mrs.  Randolph  and  the  rest  have  gone  on ;  they  are 
some  distance  ahead  of  us  by  this  time.' 

And  what  were  they  all  thinking  too,  by  this  time ! 
In  great  dismay  I  turned  to  go  after  them  with  my  un- 


AN   ENGAGEMENT. 


179 


welcome  companion.  We  walked  in  silence ;  I  blaming 
myself  greatly  for  stupidness  and  blindness  and  selfish 
preoccupation  which  had  made  me  look  at  nobody's 
affairs  but  my  own ;  and  grieving  sadly  too  for  the  mis 
chief  I  had  done. 

'Mayn't  we  be  friends,  Mr.  Marshall?'  I  said  some 
what  timidly  at  last ;  for  I  could  not  bear  the  silence. 

'  I  can  never  be  anything  else,'  he  said.  '  You  may 
always  command  me.  But  I  have  not  misunderstood  you, 
Daisy  ?  You  meant  to  tell  me  that — some  one,  has  been 
more  fortunate  than  I,  and  been  beforehand  with  me?' 

'I  did  not  mean  to  tell  you  that,'  I  said  in  a  good 
deal  of  confusion. 

'  But  it  is  true  ?'  he  said,  looking  searchingly  at  me. 

*  Nobody  knows  it,  Hugh,'  I  said.  '  Not  my  mother 
nor  my  father.' 

The  silence  fell  again  and  again  became  painful.  The 
others  of  our  party  were  well  in  advance.  We  caught 
no  glimpse  of  them  yet. 

'  We  will  be  friends,  Mr.  Marshall  ?'  I  said  anxiously. 

'Yes,  we  will  be  friends,  Daisy;  but  I  cannot  be  a 
friend  near  you.  I  cannot  see  you  any  longer.  I  shall 
be  a  wreck  now,  I  suppose.  You  might  have  made  me — 
anything!' 

'  You  will  make  yourself  a  noble  name  and  place  in 
the  world,'  I  said  laying  my  hand  on  his  arm.  'The 
name  and  the  place  of  a  servant  of  God.  Won't  you, 
Hugh  ?  Then  you  will  come  to  true  joy,  and  honour — 
the  joy  and  honour  that  God  gives.  Let  me  have  the 
joy  of  knowing  that !  I  have  done  so  much  mischief, — 
let  me  know  that  the  mischief  is  mended/ 

'  What  mischief  have  you  done  ?'  he  asked  with  his 
voice  roughened  by  feeling. 

'  I  did  not  know  what  I  was  leading  you — and  others 
— into.' 


1*0  DM 

'  \  »u  led  <o  nothin"  :  <  \.-.pt  MS  the  breath  of  n.  rose 
hvads  one  lo  stretch  out.  one's  hand  Cor  it.,'  he  answered. 
'  Tin-  rose  li:is  as  nnicli  desi 

lie  turned  aside  hastily,  stooped  for  a  little  twijj  that 
lay  on  the  roadside,  and  l><  luously  breaking  it 

up.  And  the  silenee  \v:is  not  interrupted  ajjain,  till  \ve 
came  in  si- hi  of  our  (Vi'/nds  in  advance  of  us,  leisurely 
walking  to  let  us  come  up.  Then  Hiiirli  Mud  I  plunved 
into  conversation  ;  hut,  what,  it,  \vas  about,  1  have  not,  ihe, 
least  renieinhi-anee.  It  lasted  tliouiili,  t,ill  \\ejoined  com 
pany  \\ilh  lh<>  rest,  of  our  party,  and  the  talk  heeame 
::«  IK  ral.  Still  I  do  not,  know  what  \\e  talked  ahout,.  I 
had  a.  feeling  of  thunder  in  the  air,  though  the  very 
stillness  of  sunli-ht,  IN  auty  \\as  on  the  smooth  water  and 
the  hilly  shore;  and  I  saw  clouds  rising  and 
even  thon-h  Mont,  Hl:in<-  as  \\e  rehirned  t.hat 
shewed  rosy  hues  to  its  \<  ry  summit,  in  the  clear  lu-aveu. 
I  can  hardly  tell  how,  my  mother's  manner  or  some 
thing  in  it,  made  me  sure  both  of  the  clouds  and  the 
thunder.  It,  was  full  of  urace,  tact  and  spirit,  to  such  a 
point,  of  admiration.  Yet  I  read  in  it,  yes,  and  in  that 
race  and  spirit.,  a  certain  state  of  the  nervous  powers 
which  told  of  excitement,  at  work,  or  :i  fund  of  d(  ter 
mination  LrMther'm£;  the1  electric,  forces  massing  some 
where;  and  this  luminous  play  only  foretold  the 
nin-. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

A    TRUCE. 

IT  is  odd  with  what  significance  little  things  become 
endued,  from  their  connection  with  other  things  whicli 
:ire  iu»t  little.  I  remember  the  white  dress  mamma  wore 
the  next  day,  and  the  red  eashmere  scarf  she  hud  wrapped 
round  her.  I  remember  how  happy  and  easy  the  folds 
of  her  drapery  were,  and  how  I  notieed  her  graceful  slow 
movements.  Surely  grace  is  a  natural  attribute  of 
power,  even  though  power  be  not  always  graceful;  at 
least  any  uncertainty  of  meaning  or  manner  is  fatal  to 
gracefulness.  There  was  no  uncertainty  about  mamma, 
ever,  unless  the  uncertainty  of  carelessness;  and  that 
itself  belonged  to  power.  There  was  no  uncertainty  in 
any  fold  of  her  cashmere  that  morning;  in  any  move 
ment  of  her  person,  slow  and  reposeful  as  every  movement 
was.  I  knew  by  a  sort  of  instinct  what  it  all  meant. 
Indeed  these  we're  mamma's  ordinary  characteristics ; 
only  appearing  just  now  with  the  bloom  of  perfection 
upon  them.  She  was  powerful  and  she  knew  it ;  I  knew 
myself  naturally  no  match  for  her.  It  was  always  very 
hard  for  me  to  withstand  mamma.  Nothing  but  the 
sense  of  right  ever  gave  me  courage  to  do  it.  •  But  striv 
ing  for  the  right,  the  Christian  is  not,  at  his  own  charges, 
and  has  other  strength  than  his  own  to  depend  upon. 

*  You  do  not  eat,  my  darling,'  papa  said  to  me. 

'Daisy  has  too  much  to  think  of,'  said  mamma  with  a 

VOL.  ii. — 16  181 


182  DAISY. 

sort  of  careless  significance.  '  I  will  have  anoth'er  bit  of 
chicken,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Randolph.' 

'  What  is  she  thinking  of?' 

'  Girls'  thoughts  are  unfathomable,'  said  mamma. 

'  7s  it  thoughts,  Daisy  ?'  said  my  father. 

'  I  suppose  it  may  be,  papa.' 

'  Then  I  shall  do  something  to  break  up  thinking,'  he 
said. 

But  I  knew  I  must  not  look  for  help  so.  To  appeal 
to  one  of  my  parents  against  the  other,  was  what  it  would 
never  answer  to  do,  even  if  I  could  have  done  it.  I  felt 
alone  ;  but  I  was  as  quiet  as  mamma.  I  had  not  so  good 
an  appetite. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning  she  had  me  up  stairs  to 
consider  the  matter  of  dresses  and  fashions ;  and  we  were 
turning  over  a  quantity  of  laces  and  jewels.  Mamma 
tried  one  and  another  set  of  stones  upon  me  and  in  my 
hair. 

'  Rubies  and  pearls  are  your  style,'  she  said  at  length. 
1  Diamonds  are  out  of  harmony,  somehow.  You  are 
magnificent,  Daisy ;  and  pearls  make  you  look  like  the 
Queen  of  Sheba.  I  cannot  imagine  why  diamonds  do 
not  suit  you.' 

'I  do  not  suit  them,  mamma.' 

*  Pardon  me.  You  do  not  know  yourself.  But  girls 
of  your  age  never  do.  That  is  where  mothers  are  useful, 
I  suppose.  Which  is  it  to  be,  Daisy  ?' 

'  I  do  not  want  either,  mamma.' 

'Yes;  that  is  of  course  too.  But  which  do  you 
like  best,  of  the  two?  I  suppose  you  have  some  pref 
erence.' 

'  Mamma,  I  think  I  prefer  the  pearls,  but  you  know — ' 

Mamma  stopped  my  mouth  with  a  kiss.  'Little 
goose!'  she  said, — 'I  am  not  talking  of  pearls.  Did  I 
not  say  what  I  was  thinking  of?  I  supposed  we  both 


A    TRUCE.  183 

had  the  same  thought,  Daisy,  and  that  you  would  under 
stand  me.' 

'I  thought  it  was  pearls  and  rubies,  mamma.' 

I  Well  now  you  know  it  is  not ;  and  again  I  come  back 
to  my  question, — Which  is  it  to  be  ?' 

'  Which — of  what,  mamma  ?' 
'  Nonsense,  Daisy ; — you  know.' 

I 1  know  nothing  of  any  choice  that  I  have  to  make, 
ma'am,  if  you  do  not  mean  about  jewels ;  and  of  them, 
as  I  said,  I  should  prefer  neither.' 

'You  may  choose  and  refuse  among  jewels,'  said  my 
mother, — '  and  refuse  and  choose  ;  but  among  some  other 
things  it  is  necessary  to  make  a  choice  and  stick  to  it.' 

'  Yes,  mamma ;  but  I  am  not  in  such  a  necessity.' 

'  What  choice  have  you  made,  then  ?  It  is  the  same 
thing,  Daisy ;  only  I  want  to  know.  Do  you  not  think 
it  is  reasonable  that  I  should  know  ?' 

'Please  explain  yourself,  mamma.' 

'Hugh  Marshall,  then,  and  Charles  de  Saussure. 
What  is  your  mind  about  them  ?' 

'  I  like  them,  mamma,  as  your  friends  and  as  mine, — 
very  well, — but  no  more.' 

'  Only  very  well.' 

'  No  more,  mamma.' 

'Very  well,  is  a  good  deal,'  said  mamma  coolly. 
'Which  of  them  must  I  like  a  little  more  than  very 
well,  Daisy?' 

'  Mamma  ? — ' 

'Whoever  owns  and  possesses  you,  I  should  wish  to 
like  very  much.  Which  is  it  to  be,  Daisy  ?' 

'  Neither  of  these  gentlemen,  mamma.' 

'  Did  De  Saussure  propose  to  you  yesterday  ?' 

'Yes.' 

'  What  did  you  say  to  him  ?' 

4 1  made  him  understand  that  he  was  nothing  to  me.' 


184  DAISY. 

*  He  is  something  to  me,'  said  mamma.     '  He  is  one 
of  the  first  young  men  I  know,  and  has  one  of  the  finest 
estates — close  by  yours,  Daisy.' 

'Estates  are  nothing  in  such  a  matter,  mamma.' 

'That  is  like  saying  that  pearls  and  rubies  are  nothing 
on  such  a  skin  as  yours,'  said  mamma  laughing.  '  But 
you  may  think  of  the  men,  Daisy,  and  I  will  think  of 
the  estates ;  that  is  all  en  regie.' 

'  I  do  not  wish  to  think  of  these  men,  mamma.' 

'It  is  late  in  the  day  to  say  that.  You  must  have 
thought  of  them  both,  Daisy,  and  long  ago.' 

'  It  never  entered  my  head  till  yesterday,  mamma,  that 
either  of  them  liked  me.' 

'  You  must  have  seen  it  for  weeks  past.' 

'  I  did  not,  mamma, — I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing 
as  possible,  till  yesterday.' 

*  Is  it  a  possible  thing,'  said  mamma,  '  that  a  daughter 
of  mine  can  be  such  a  simpleton  ?     It  is  time  you  were 
married,  Daisy,  if  you  can  break  hearts  like  that,  with 
out  knowing  it.' 

'  Better  be  a  simpleton  than  wicked,'  I  said. 

'  And  that  comes  to  the  point,'  said  mamma.  '  You 
have  most  unaccountably  encouraged  the  addresses  of 
these  gentlemen — and  seeing  that  you  did,  so  have  I ; — 
now,  to  clear  both  yourself  and  me,  let  your  preference 
be  made  known.  It  need  not  take  you  long  to  make  your 
mind  up,  I  suppose.' 

'I  am  very  sorry,  mamma.  I  have  done  wrong;  I 
have  been  very  foolish  ;  but  I  cannot  do  worse.  I  do 
not  like  either  of  these  gentlemen  well  enough  for  what 
you  mean.' 

'  If  you  have  done  wrong,  you  can  mend  it,'  said  mam 
ma.  '  Liking  will  come  fast  enough,  Daisy ;  a  girl  like 
you  does  not  think  she  can  like  anybody  but  her  father 
and  mother ;  she  finds  out  her  mistake  in  time.  So  will 


A    TRUCE.  185 

you.  I  will  decide  for  you,  if  you  have  no  choice.  Charles 
de  Saussure  is  my  friend,  and  I  think  he  is  most  of  a 
man  of  the  two.  I  will  tell  Charles  that  you  will  make 
him  happy  by  and  by.' 

1  No,  mamma,  I  will  not.     Do  not  tell  him  so.' 

'  Do  you  like  Hugh  Marshall  better  ?' 

'  I  do  not  like  either  of  them  in  the  way  you  mean.' 

'  Do  you  like  Hugh  better  ?    Answer  me.' 

'  Mamma — ' 

'  No,  answer  me.  A  plain  answer.  Do  you  like  Hugh 
better?' 

'  A  great  deal  better ;  but — ' 

'That  settles  it,'  said  mamma.  'You  shall  be  Hugh 
Marshall's  wife.  Don't  tell  me  a  word  against  it,  Daisy, 
for  I  will  not  hear  you.  I  do  not  like  Marshall  as  well, 
myself,  but  his  property  is  even  larger,  I  believe ;  and  as 
I  am  not  in  love,  I  may  be  allowed  to  think  of  such  things. 
It  is  away  over  on  the  Mississippi ;  but  we  cannot  help 
that.  I  will  make  Hugh  happy  to-day,  and  then  you 
shall,  Daisy.' 

'  No,  mamma, — never.     It  cannot  be/ 

'It  must,  Daisy.  You  have  compromised  yourself, 
and  me.  You  have  allowed  these  gentlemen's  attentions ; 
you  have  been  seen  everywhere  with  them ;  you  owe  it 
to  yourself  and  them  to  declare  your  choice  of  one  of 
them  now.  You  must  make  up  your  mind  to  it.  If  you 
are  not  in  love,  it  cannot  be  helped ;  that  will  come  in 
time;  but  I  think  you  are.  Hey,  Daisy?'  she  said, 
lifting  my  chin  with  her  forefinger  and  looking  into  my 
face, — '  isn't  it  true  ?  Isn't  it  true  ?  Ah,  silly  thing ! — 
Eyes  that  are  wells  of  sweetness  for  somebody — for  all 
down  they  go, — a  mouth  that  has  smiles  enough  for  some 
body, — though  it  trembles, — and  what  does  this  rose 
leaf  mean,  that  is  stealing  over  every  one  of  your  two 
cheeks  ?  it  is  a  witness  to  somebody,  who  has  brought  it 
16* 


186  DAISY. 

there.  Go — I  know  all  about  it.  You  may  make  your 
confession  to  Hugh,  if  you  like  it  best.' 

I  thought  mamma  would  have  broken  my  heart.  I  rose 
up  in  despair. 

'  To-day,  Daisy,'  mamma  repeated.  '  It  must  be  done 
to-day.' 

What  could  I  say?     I  did  not  know. 

'Mamma,  it  is  not  as  you  think.  I  do  not  care  for 
Hugh  Marshall.' 

'Is  it  De  Saussure,  then?'  she  asked,  turning  quickly 
upon  me. 

'No,  mamma.' 

'Is  it  Preston  Gary?'  she  asked,  with  a  change  in  her 
voice. 

'No,  O  no,  mamma!' 

'Then  it  is  one  of  these.  Daisy,  I  protest  I  have  not 
skill  enough  to  find  out  which  of  them;  but  you  know, 
and  that  is  sufficient.  And  they  must  know  too ;  there 
can  be  no  more  of  this  three-cornered  game.  It  is  time 
to  put  an  end  to  it.  I  have  read  you,  if  you  have  not 
read  yourself;  and  now,  my  child,  you  must  be  content 
to  let  the  rose  blossom,  that  you  keep  so  carefully  folded 
up  in  its  green  leaves.  One  of  these  gentlemen  will  leave 
us  presently ;  and  the  other,  whichever  it  is,  I  shall  con 
sider  and  treat  as  your  acknowledged  suitor;  and  so  must 
you,  Daisy.  He  will  be  going  home  to  the  war,  he  too, 
in  a  short  time  more;  and  he  must  go  with  the  distinct 
understanding  that  when  the  war  is  over  you  will  reward 
him  as  he  wants  to  be  rewarded.  Not  till  then,  child. 
You  will  have  time  enough  to  think  about  it.' 

My  mother  had  shut  my  lips.  I  was  afraid  to  say  any 
thing  good  or  bad.  She  had  read  me;  yes,  I  felt  that 
she  had,  when  she  looked  into  my  face  and  touched  my 
cheeks  and  kissed  my  lips,  which  I  knew  well  enough 
were  trembling,  as  she  had  said.  She  had  read  me,  all 


A    TRUCE.  187 

but  the  name  in  my  heart.  What  if  she  had  read  that? 
The  least  movement  now  on  my  part  might  bring  it  to 
the  light;  what  if  it  came?  I  did  not  know  what  then, 
and  I  was  greatly  afraid.  An  old  awe  of  my  mother  and 
sense  of  her  power,  as  well  as  knowledge  of  her  invinci 
ble  determination,  filled  me  with  doubt  and  fear.  She 
might  write  to  Mr.  Thorold  at  once  and  forbid  him  ever 
to  think  of  me;  she  might  send  him  word  that  I  was  en 
gaged  to  Mr.  de  Saussure.  And  indeed  I  might  also 
possibly  clear  my  own  action  to  Mr.  Thorold ;  but  change 
hers,  never.  My  faith  failed,  I  believe.  I  was  like 
Abraham  when  he  went  into  Egypt  and  feared  somebody 
would  kill  him  to  get  possession  of  his  wife.  I  did  not, 
like  him,  resort  to  a  fiction  for  my  safety;  but  neither 
did  I  trust  God  and  dare  tell  the  truth. 

My  own  will  was  as  good  as  mamma's.  I  was  not 
afraid  of  wreakly  yielding  some  time  or  other ;  I  was  only 
afraid  of  her  outside  measures. 

She  resumed  her  occupation  of  trying  laces  and  jewels 
on  me;  finally  laughed,  chucked  me  under  the  chin, 
kissed  me,  called  me  a  pretty  goose,  and  bade  me  go  and 
dress  myself  "for  whomever  I  liked  best."  I  went  to 
my  room  to  have  the  heartache. 

I  had  given  up  the  management  of  myself;  I  was  not 
struggling  now ;  I  knew  there  would  be  a  way  out  of  all 
my  perplexities  some  time;  but  nevertheless  my  heart 
ached.  I  did  dress  myself,  however,  for  that  is  an  im 
portant  part  of  a  woman's  work ;  and  I  went  down  stairs 
with  a  vague  hope  in  my  heart  that  I  might  see  Hugh 
and  somehow  enlist  him  on  my  side,  so  far  at  least  as  to 
make  him  delay  his  departure ;  though  I  could  not  im 
agine  how  I  could  ask  it,  nor  what  I  could  say  to  him  of 
any  sort  that  would  benefit  me  or  that  would  not  do  him 
harm.  But  I  thought  in  vain.  I  did  not  see  him.  Mr. 
de  Saussure  came,  and  played  chess  with  me  all  the 


188  DAISY. 

evening.  I  played  very  ill,  and  he  won  every  game,  till 
I  thought  he  would  stop  for  the  very  stupidness  of  it. 

Some  painful  days  followed  that  day;  during  which 
mamma  managed  to  make  me  accept  Mr.  de  Saussure's 
attentions  in  public  and  in  private.  She  managed  it;  I 
could  not  escape  them  without  making  a  violent  protest, 
and  I  did  not  of  course  choose  that.  Hugh  Marshall  was 
gone ;  he  had  come  only  to  take  a  hurried  leave  of  us ; 
suddenly  obliged  to  return  home,  he  said;  "he  had 
lingered  too  long."  Mr.  de  Saussure's  eyes  flashed  with 
triumph;  every  line  of  mamma's  face  (to  me)  expressed 
satisfaction,  of  course  gracefully  concealed  from  every 
body  else.  But  Hugh  and  I  parted  with  a  great  grasp 
of  the  hand,  which  I  am  sure  came  from  both  our  hearts 
and  left  mine  very  sore.  Then  he  was  gone.  After  that, 
Mr.  de  Saussure  took  Hugh's  place  and  his  own  too  in 
our  little  society ;  and  for  a  few  days  things  went  on  in  a 
train  which  I  knew  was  preparing  mischief. 

Then  one  night  the  explosion  came.  We  were  out  on 
the  lake  in  a  boat ;  mamma,  Mr.  de  Saussure,  and  I ;  we 
had  gone  to  see  the  colours  come  and  go  on  the  great 
head  of  Mont  Blanc.  In  the  glory  of  the  sight,  I  had 
forgotten  who  was  with  me  and  where  I  was,  for  the  mo 
ment;  and  I  was  thinking  of  the  colours  and  lights  of 
the  New  Jerusalem,  than  which  those  before  me  seemed 
scarcely  less  unearthly.  Thinking,  with  a  pang  at  the 
distance  between ;  with  a  longing  for  those  pure  heights 
where  human  life  never  casts  its  flickering  shadow;  with 
a  cry  for  Thorold  in  my  heart,  whom  every  sight  of  joy 
or  beauty  was  sure  to  bring  before  me.  I  was  rudely  re 
called  from  my  momentary  dream,  though  it  was  by  my 
mother's  soft  voice. 

'  Daisy—' 

I  started  and  came  back  to  earth  and  the  Lake  of 
Geneva. 


A    TRUCE.  189 

*  Mr.  de  Saussure  is  going  soon  to  leave  us  and  return 
home — you  know  for  what.     Before  he  goes,  he  desires 
the  satisfaction  of  kissing  your  hand.    I  suppose  he  would 
have  liked  a  little  more,  but  I  have  only  promised  the 
hand.' 

'  I  have  explained  myself  to  Mr.  de  Saussure,  mamma ; 
he  is  under  no  mistake.' 

*  So  I  have  told  him.     He  could  not  ask  more  than  you 
have  given  him ;  but  leaving  us  for  a  long  while,  Daisy, 
and  on  such  a  service,  a  little  further  grace  would  not  be 
ill  bestowed.     I  shall  give  him  leave,  if  you  do  not,'  she 
added  laughing ;   '  and  I  may  give  him  more  than  you 
would  like,  Daisy.' 

I  think  at  that  minute  I  felt  as  if  I  would  like  to  make 
one  spring  out  of  this  world  and  all  its  confusions  into 
that  other  world  I  had  been  thinking  of;  but  one  does 
not  get  quit  of  one's  troubles  so  easily.  That  minute  on 
the  Lake  of  Geneva  was  one  of  the  ugliest  I  have  ever 
known.  Mamma  was  smooth  and  determined ;  Mr.  de 
Saussure  looked  triumphant  and  expectant;  for  a  mo 
ment  my  heart  shrank,  but  I  do  not  think  I  shewed  it 
outwardly. 

*  Daisy — '  said  mamma  smiling. 
'Yes,  ma'am.' 

'Mr.  de  Saussure  is  waiting.  Will  you  speak  the 
word?— or  shall  I?' 

'  I  have  spoken  to  Mr.  de  Saussure,'  I  said  coldly. 

'Not  very  clearly.  He  understands  you  better 
now.' 

'  Permit  me  to  say,'  put  in  blandly  Mr.  de  Saussure, — 
'  that  I  am  rejoiced  to  find  I  did  not  understand  you  at  a 
former  conversation  we  held  together.  Mrs.  Kandolph 
has  been  my  kind  interpreter.  You  will  not  now  refuse 
me  ?'  he  said  as  he  endeavoured  to  insinuate  his  fingers 
into  mine. 


190  DAISY. 

'Kiss  her,  Charles!'  said  mamma;  'she  is  a  coy  girl. 
I  give  you  leave/ 

And  before  I  could  anticipate  or  prevent  it,  Mr.  de 
Saussure's  arm  was  round  me  and  the  salute  was  given. 
I  think  mamma  really  thought  she  could  bestow  me 
away  as  she  pleased.  I  am  sure  she  had  no  idea  of  the 
nature  she.  was  combating.  Nobody  had  ever  with 
stood  her  successfully  ;  she  did  not  think  that  I  could  be 
the  first.  But  this  little  thing — it  was  not  a  little  thing 
to  me  at  the  time — cut  the  knot  of  my  difficulties.  Ke- 
leased  from  Mr.  de  Saussure's  encircling  arm,  I  removed 
myself  to  the  other  side  of  the  boat  and  drew  my  shawl 
round  me.  I  do  not  know  what  significance  was  in  my 
action,  but  mamma  said,  '  Nonsense!' 

'  I  have  not  offended,  have  I  ?'  said  Mr.  de  Saussure. 
'Remember,  I  had  liberty.'* 

'  Mamma,'  I  said,  '  if  you  will  sit  a  little  further  that 
way,  you  will  restore  the  balance  of  the  boat.' 

1  Which  you  have  entirely  disarranged,  Daisy,'  she 
said  as  she  moved  herself. 

'  Daisy  will  acknowledge  I  had  liberty,'  Mr.  de  Saus 
sure  repeated. 

'  Mamma,'  I  said,  '  don't  you  think  it  is  growing  chill?' 

'Row  us  home,  Charles,'  said  my  mother.  'And, 
Daisy,  don't  be  a  fool.  Mr.  de  Saussure  had  liberty,  as 
he  says.' 

'  I  do  not  acknowledge  it,  ma'am.' 

'  You  must  give  her  line,  Charles,'  mamma  said,  half 
laughing  but  vexed.  '  She  is  a  woman.' 

'  I  hope  she  will  grant  me  forgiveness,'  he  said.  '  She 
must  remember,  I  thought  I  had  liberty.' 

'I  shall  not  forget,'  I  answered.  'I  understand,  that 
respect  for  me  failed  before  respect  for  my  mother.' 

'  But ! — '  he  began. 

'Be    quiet,    Charles,'    my   mother    interrupted    him. 


A    TRUCE.  191 

*  Pull  us  to  shore ;  and  let  fits  of  perverseness  alone  till 
they  go  off.  That  is  my  counsel  to  you.' 

And  the  remainder  of  our  little  voyage  was  finished  in 
profound  silence.  I  knew  mamma  was  terribly  vexed, 
but  at  the  same  time  I  was  secretly  overjoyed ;  for  I  saw 
that  she  yielded  to  me,  and  I  knew  that  I  should  have  no 
more  trouble  with  Mr.  de  Saussure. 

I  did  not.  He  lingered  about  for  a  few  days  longer, 
in  moody  style,  and  then  went  away  and  I  saw  him  no 
more.  During  those  days  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  him. 
But  my  mother  had  almost  as  little  to  do  with  me.  She 
was  greatly  oifended ;  and  also,  I  saw,  very  much  sur 
prised.  The  woman  Daisy  could  not  be  quite  the  ductile 
thing  the  child  Daisy  had  been.  I  took  refuge  with  papa 
whenever  I  could. 

'  What  is  all  this  about  De  Saussure  and  Marshall  ?'  he 
asked  one  day. 

'They  have  both  gone  home.' 

'I  know  they  have;  but  what  sent  them  home?' 

'  Mamma  has  been  trying  to  make  them  go,  this  long 
while,  you  know,  papa.  She  wanted  them  to  go  and  join 
Beauregard.' 

'And  will  they?     Is  that  what  they  are  gone  for?' 

'I  do  not  know  if  they  will,  papa.  I  suppose  Mr.  de 
Saussure  will.' 

'And  not  Marshall?' 

'I  do  not  know  about  him.' 

4 What  did  you  do,  Daisy?' 

'Papa — you  know  I  do  not  like  the  war.' 

'  How  about  liking  the  gentlemen  ?' 

'I  am  glad  they  are  gone.' 

'Well,  so  am  I,'  papa  answered;  'but  what  had  you  to 
do  with  sending  them  home?' 

'Nothing,  papa, — only  that  I  unfortunately  did  not 
want  them  to  stay.' 


192  DAISY. 

'And  you  could  not  offer  them  any  reward  for  going?' 

'  Papa,  a  man  who  would  do  such  a  thing  for  reward, 
would  not  be  a  man.' 

*  I  think  so  too,  Daisy.  Your  mother  somehow  takes  a 
different  view.' 

'  She  cares  only  for  the  soldier,  papa ;  not  for  the  man.' 

Papa  was  silent  and  thoughtful. 

There  were  no  other  intimate  friends  about  us  in 
Geneva ;  and  our  life  became,  I  must  confess,  less  varied 
and  pleasant  after  the  young  men  had  gone.  At  first  I 
felt  only  the  relief;  then  the  dulness  began  to  creep  in. 
Papa  led  the  life  of  an  invalid,  or  of  one  who  had  been 
an  invalid ;  not  an  active  life  in  any  way ;  I  thought,  not 
active  enough  for  his  good.  Some  hours  I  got  of  reading 
with  him ;  reading  to  him,  and  talking  of  what  we  read ; 
they  did  my  father  good,  and  me  too;  but  they  were  few, 
and  often  cut  short.  As  soon  as  mamma  joined  us,  our 
books  had  to  be  laid  aside.  They  bored  her,  she  said,  or 
hindered  her  own  reading;  and  she  and  papa  played 
draughts  and  chess  and  piquet.  Mamma  was  not  in  a 
bored  state  at  other  times ;  for  she  was  busy  with  letters 
and  plans  and  arrangements,  always  in  a  leisurely  way, 
but  yet  busy.  It  was  a  sort  of  business  with  which  I  had 
no  sympathy,  and  which  therefore  left  me  out.  The  cause 
of  the  South  was  not  my  cause;  and  the  discussion  of 
toilettes,  fashions,  costumes  and  society  matters,  was  en 
tirely  out  of  my  line.  In  all  these,  mamma  found  her 
element.  Ransom  was  no  resource  to  anybody;  and  of 
course  not  to  me,  with  whom,  now  as  ever,  he  had  little 
in  common.  Mamma  held  me  aloof,  ever  since  Mr.  de 
Saussure's  departure ;  and  I  only  knew  indirectly,  as  it 
were,  that  she  was  planning  a  social  campaign  for  me  and 
meditating  over  adornments  and  advantages  which  should 
help  to  make  it  triumphant.  Life  in  this  way  was  not 
altogether  enjoyable.  The  only  conversation  which  could 


A    TRUCE.  193 

be  said  to  be  general  among  us,  was  on  the  subject  of 
home  affairs  in  America.  That  rung  in  my  ears  every 
day. 

'Glorious  news,  sir!'  cried  Ransom  one  day  as  he  came 
in  to  dinner.  '  Glorious  news !  The  first  real  news  we 
have  had  in  a  long  time.' 

1  What  is  it?'  said  my  father;  and  'What,  Ransom?' 
my  mother  asked,  with  a  kindling  eye.  My  heart  sank. 
Those  know  who  remember  those  times,  how  one's  heart 
used  to  sink  when  news  came. 

'What  is  it,  Ransom?' 

'Why  a  large  body  of  them,  the  Yankees,  got  across 
the  Potomac  the  night  of  the  20th ;  got  in  a  nest  of  our 
sharpshooters  and  were  well  riddled;  then,  when  they 
couldn't  stand  it  any  longer,  they  fell  back  to  the  river 
and  tried  to  get  across  again  to  the  other  side,  where  they 
came  from;  and  they  had  no  means  of  getting  across, 
nothing  but  a  couple  of  old  scows ;  so  they  went  into  the 
water  to  get  away  from  the  fire,  and  quantities  of  them 
were  drowned,  and  those  that  were  not  drowned  were  shot. 
Lost  a  great  many,  and  their  commanding  officer  killed. 
That's  the  way.  They'll  have  enough  of  it  in  time.  The 
war' 11  be  over  in  a  few  weeks  or  months  more.  De  Saus- 
sure  will  not  have  time  to  raise  his  regiment.  I  don't 
think,  mamma,  it's  any  use  for  me  to  go  home,  it'll  be 
over  so  soon.' 

'Where  was  this?'  inquired  my  father. 

'  Some  place — Ball's  Bluff,  I  believe.  It  was  a  grand 
affair.' 

'How  many  did  they  lose?'  my  mother  said. 

'O  I  don't  know — some  thousands.  We  lost  nothing 
to  speak  of.  But  the  thing  is,  they  will  lose  heart. 
They  will  never  stand  this  sort  of  thing.  They  have  no 
officers,  you  know,  and  they  can  have  no  soldiers.  They 
will  be  obliged  to  give  up.' 

VOL.  ii. — 17  N 


194  DAISY. 

Words  were  in  my  heart,  but  my  lips  knew  better  than 
to  speak  them.  Had  they  no  officers?  Had  Christian 
no  soldiers  under  him?  My  head  was  ready  to  believe 
it;  my  heart  refused.  Yet  I  thought  too  I  had  seen  at 
the  North  the  stuff  that  soldiers  are  made  of. 

'If  I  were  you/  said  my  mother,  'I  would  not  let  it 
all  be  over  before  I  had  a  part  in  it.' 

'The  war  is  not  ended  yet,  Felicia/  my  father  re 
marked  ;  '  and  it  will  take  more  than  a  few  hard  knocks 
to  make  them  give  up/ 

'  They  have  had  nothing  but  hard  knocks,  sir,  since 
it  began,'  Hansom  cried. 

'  Your  father  always  takes  a  medium  view  of  every 
thing/  my  mother  said.  '  If  it  depended  on  him,  I  be 
lieve  there  would  be  no  war.' 

'  I  should  have  one  other  vote  for  peace/  papa  said 
looking  at  me. 

'  It  is  well  Daisy  was  not  born  a  boy !'  Ransom  said. 

'I  hope  you  will  not  make  me  wish  you  had  been  born 
a  girl/  my  father  replied.  '  Strength  is  no  more  noble 
when  it  ceases  to  be  gentle.' 

'Must  not  every  woman  wish  for  peace?'  I  said.  It 
was  an  unhappy  attempt  at  a  diversion,  and  if  I  had  not 
been  in  a  hurry  I  should  not  have  made  it. 

'  No/  my  mother  answered,  not  sharply,  but  with 
cold  distinctness.  'Before  the  South  should  submit  to 
the  dictation  or  reproof  of  Northern  boors  and  fanatics, 
I  would  take  a  musket  myself  and  die  in  the  trenches.' 

'  It  is  an  ugly  place  to  die  in,  my  dear/  answered  my 
father. 

'  See  Daisy  shiver !'  Ransom  exclaimed ;  and  he  burst 
into  a  laugh,  '  Mamma,  Daisy's  blood  has  grown  thin 
at  the  North.  She  is  not  a  true  Southern  woman.  There 
is  no  fire  in  you,  Daisy.' 

Not  at  that  moment,  for  I  was  sick  and  cold,  as  he 


A    TRUCE.  195 

said.  I  could  not  get  accustomed  to  these  things,  with 
all  the  practice  I  had. 

'  No  fire  in  her  ?'  said  papa  calmly.  '  There  is  ammu 
nition  enough,  Ransom.  I  don't  want  to  see  the  fire,  for 
my  part.  I  am  glad  there  is  one  of  us  that  keeps  cool. 
My  darling,  you  look  pale — what  is  it  for  ?' 

'  Fire  that  burns  with  a  blue  flame,'  said  mamma. 

1  Blue  ?' — said  papa,  with  a  look  at  me  which  somehow 
set  us  all  to  laughing. 

'  The  carmine  is  coming  in  again,'  said  mamma.  '  I 
profess  I  do  not  understand  you,  Daisy.' 

I  was  afraid  she  began  to  suspect  me. 

It  was  very  true  that  mamma  did  not  understand  me ; 
and  it  was  the  unhappiness  of  my  life.  I  tried  hard  to 
narrow  the  distance  between  us,  by  every  opportunity 
that  the  days  or  the  hours  gave ;  and  a  certain  accord 
was  after  a  time  established  anew  in  our  relations  with 
each  other.  Mamma  again  took  to  adorning  and  playing 
with  me ;  again  studied  my  toilettes  and  superintended 
my  dressing ;  made  me  as  exquisite  as  herself  in  all  out 
ward  paraphernalia.  I  let  her  alone ;  in  this  at  least  I 
could  gratify  her;  and  no  occasion  of  gratifying  her 
was  to  be  lost.  Papa  was  pleased  too,  though  I  think  it 
made  less  difference  to  him  what  I  was  dressed  in ;  yet 
he  observed  me,  and  smiled  in  a  way  to  shew  his  pleasure 
whenever  a  new  device  of  mamma's  produced  a  new 
effect.  She  sought  society  for  herself  and  me  now.  We 
removed  from  Geneva  and  went  to  Florence.  I  was 
thankful  it  was  not  to  Paris.  Every  foot  of  Italy  had 
great  charms  for  me ;  and  I  dreamed  over  Florence,  with 
a  delighted  fancy  that  never  grew  tired  or  tame.  That 
my  evenings  were  spent  in  what  I  did  not  care  for,  could 
not  spoil  my  days.  Our  walks  and  drives,  which  papa 
and  I  often  now  took  alone,  were  delicious  beyond 
expression.  I  forgot  the  whirl  of  the  night  before  and 


196  DAISY. 

of  the  evening  to  come,  and  I  was  the  child  Daisy  again, 
I  think,  in  very  much.  At  night  mamma  had  me. 

There  was  a  lull  at  this  time  in  the  news  from  home. 
Both  parties  in  America  were  gathering  up  their  strength ; 
and  in  the  mean  time  the  only  affairs  we  heard  of  were 
inconclusive  skirmishes,  sometimes  turning  out  for  the  ad 
vantage  of  one  side,  sometimes  of  the  other ;  but  not  to 
signal  advantage  for  anybody.  I  hoped,  with  such  a  lull, 
that  things  might  subside  into  a  state  susceptible  of  com 
position.  I  might  have  reasoned,  if  I  looked  at  home, 
upon  the  unlikelihood  of  any  such  thing.  No  news  of 
advantages  lost  or  gained  had  any  effect  upon  my  mother 
and  brother  but  to  make  them  more  keen  in  the  cause 
and  more  relentless  in  pursuit  of  their  end.  The  hearing 
of  a  trifling  success  was  like  a  taste  of  blood  to  the  lion ; 
the  loss  of  Beaufort  and  its  forts  was  turned  into  an  occa 
sion  of  triumph  because  "the  great  naval  expedition" 
had  accomplished  no  greater  things.  They  laughed  at 
McClellan's  review  of  troops;  and  counted  up  the 
gains  his  adversaries  were  to  realize  from  the  co-operation 
of  foreign  well-wishers.  And  then  the  taking  of  Mason 
and  Slidell  put  them  into  a  fume  of  indignation  and 
scorn.  My  father  shared,  though  more  gently,  in  all 
this.  I  was  alone.  Could  I  tell  them  that  my  heart  was 
with  the  Northern  army  ;  and  how  it  went  out  after  every 
gleam  of  one  particular  sabre  ? 

My  mother  drew  me  into  society  by  degrees.  I  hardly 
knew  where  the  line  was  passed,  between  quiet  conversa 
ziones  and  brilliant  and  courtly  assemblies.  It  was  passed 
when  I  was  unwitting  of  it,  or  when  I  felt  unable  to 
help  it.  My  mother  had  been  so  much  alienated  by  my 
behaviour  toward  Marshall  and  De  Saussure,  that  I 
thought  it  needful  to  please  her  by  every  means  in  my 
power,  short  of  downright  violation  of  conscience. 
"  Children,  obey  your  parents  in  the  Lord" — I  did  not 


A    TRUCE.  197 

forget ;  I  thought  I  was  doing  the  very  thing.  For  it 
was  not  to  please  myself,  that  I  let  my  mother  make  me 
look  as  she  chose  and  let  her  take  me  where  she  would. 
My  heart  was  too  sore  to  be  ambitious  and  too  sober  to 
feel  the  flutterings  of  vanity.  I  knew  the  effect  of  her 
doings  was  often  what  satisfied  her ;  but  the  nearest  ap 
proach  to  a  thrill  of  vanity  in  myself  was,  I  think,  the 
wish  that  Christian  could  see  me.  And  as  he  could 
not,  I  seemed  to  wear  an  armour  of  proof  against  other 
eyes.  I  did  not  care  for  them. 

Nevertheless,  I  began  to  be  sensible  that  they  cared 
for  me.  I  obeyed  my  mother  at  first  because  she  signi 
fied  her  will  very  absolutely,  and  allowed  me  to  see  that 
any  refusal  on  my  part  would  make  a  breach  between  us. 
I  left  myself  in  her  hands,  to  dress  and  adorn  and  lead 
about  as  she  liked ;  I  could  not  help  it  without  an  effort 
that  would  have  parted  us.  And  besides,  I  believe  I  ac 
cepted  these  engrossments  of  society  as  a  sedative  to  keep 
me  from  thinking.  They  took  a  great  deal  of  time  and 
occupied  my  attention  while  they  lasted. 

By  degrees  there  came  a  change.  As  I  said,  I  was 
admired.  At  first  I  cared  little  for  any  eyes  but  those 
which  could  not  see  me  ;  but  that  did  not  last.  I  began 
to  like  to  be  admired.  Soon  after  that,  it  dimly  dawned 
upon  me,  that  some  of  those  whom  I  saw  now  every  day, 
might  come  to  admire  me  too  much.  I  had  learnt  a 
lesson.  There  were  several  gentlemen,  whose  society  I 
liked  very  well,  who  gave  us,  I  began  to  perceive,  a  great 
deal  of  it.  I  saw  them  at  night ;  I  saw  them  by  day ; 
they  met  us  in  our  walks ;  they  even  joined  us  in  our 
rides.  One  was  a  German ;  a  very  cultivated  and  agree 
able  talker,  well-bred,  and  in  high  position  at  Florence. 
Another  was  a  delightful  Italian ;  poor  I  think.  A  third 
was  a  young  English  nobleman ;  rich,  but  nothing  more 
that  I  could  discover.  The  German  talked  to  me ;  the 
17* 


198  DAISY. 

Italian  sang  with  me ;  the  Englishman  followed  me,  and 
was  most  at  home  in  our  house  of  them  all.  I  had  been 
taking  the  good  of  all  this,  in  a  nice  society  way,  enjoy 
ing  the  music  and  the  talk  and  the  information  I  got 
from  the  two  first,  and  I  am  afraid  enjoying  too  the 
flowers  and  the  attentions  of  the  third,  as  well  as  of  still 
others  whom  I  have  not  mentioned.  I  was  floating  down 
a  stream  and  I  had  not  thought  about  it,  only  enjoyed  in 
a  careless  way  ;  till  a  little  thing  startled  me. 

'  We  do  not  have  so  much  time  for  our  walks  as  we 
used,  Daisy,'  papa  said  one  day  when  he  came  into  the 
drawing-room  and  found  me  with  my  habit  on.  '  Where 
are  you  going  now  ?' 

1  To  ride,  papa,  with  Lord  Montjoy.' 

'  My  Daisy  is  not  a  daisy  any  longer,'  said  papa  fold 
ing  me  in  his  arms.  '  She  has  gro\vn  into  a  white  ca 
mellia.  Going  to  ride  with  Lord  Montjoy!' — 

I  cannot  say  what  in  these  last  words  of  papa  gave  me 
a  whole  revelation. 

'  I  think  you  are  mistaken,  papa,'  I  said.  '  '  I  am 
Daisy  yet.' 

'I  was  mistaken,'  said  papa  smiling,  but  rather 
shadowedly,  I  thought; — 'I  should  have  said  a  rose 
camellia.  Here  is  Lord  Montjoy,  my  dear.  Go.' 

I  am  sure  Lord  Montjoy  had  little  satisfaction  in  that 
ride ;  at  least  I  am  sure  I  had  little.  I  was  longing  for 
time  to  think,  and  frightened  besides.  But  when  the 
ride  was  over,  mamma  wanted  me ;  the  evening  claimed 
me  for  a  grand  reception ;  the  morning  held  me  in 
sleep  ;  we  had  company  at  luncheon  ;  I  was  engaged  with 
another  riding  party  in  the  afternoon,  and  another  as 
sembly  expected  me  at  night.  I  could  not  rest  or  think, 
as  I  wanted  to  think,  till  night  and  morning  had  again 
two  or  three  times  tossed  me  about  as  a  society  ball.  I 
think  one's  mind  gets  to  be  something  like  a  ball  too, 


A    TRUCE.  199 

when  one  lives  such  a  life;  all  one's  better  thoughts 
rolled  up,  like  a  hybernating  hedgehog,  and  put  away  as 
not  wanted  for  use.  I  had  no  opportunity  to  unroll  mine 
for  several  days. 

But  I  could  not  bear  this  state  of  things  long ;  and  at 
last  I  excused  myself  from  a  party  one  morning  and  went 
to  walk  with  papa ;  and  then  that  hedgehog  of  thoughts 
began  to  stir  and  unfold  and  come  to  life.  Still  I  wanted 
quiet.  We  had  been  going  through  a  picture  gallery, 
where  I  did  not  see  the  pictures ;  then,  as  often  before,  I 
persuaded  papa  to  walk  on  further  and  take  post  where 
we  could  look  at  our  leisure  on  the  beautiful  Dome. 
This  was  an  unceasing  pleasure  to  me.  Papa  was  not  so 
fond  of  it ;  he  came  for  my  sake,  as  he  often  was  accus 
tomed  to  do.  To-day,  instead  of  soothing,  its  majestic 
beauty  roused  all  there  was  to  rouse  within  me.  I  sup 
pose  we  were  a  long  time  silent,  but  I  do  not  know. 

'  Daisy,  you  are  very  quiet,'  papa  said  at  length. 

'  Yes  papa,'  I  said  rousing  myself.     *  I  was  thinking.' 

*  That  is  an  old  disease  of  yours,  my  pet.     I  wish  I 
could  enjoy  that  great  Dome  as  much  as  you  do.' 

'  Papa,  it  is  so  perfect !' 

*  The  Grecian  temples  suit  me  better,  Daisy.' 
'  Not  me,  papa/ 

*  Why  do  they  not  ?     What  can  equal  their  grace  and 
symmetry  ?' 

1  It  is  cold  beauty,  papa ;  there  is  nothing  to  lift  the 
thoughts  up ;  and  I  don't  believe  those  who  built  them 
had  any  high  thoughts — spiritual  thoughts,  I  mean, 
papa.' 

'  And  you  think  the  builder  of  the  Dome  of  Florence 
had?' 

'  Yes  sir — I  think  so/ 

'  The  one  means  no  more  to  me  than  the  other,  Daisy.' 

'Papa,'  I  said,  'don't  you  remember,  when  you  sent 


200  DAISY. 

me  word  I  must  stay  two  years  longer  in  school  without 
seeing  you  and  mamma,  you  sent  me  a  promise  too  ? — by 
Aunt  Gary/ 

1 1  remember  very  well,  Daisy.  Are  you  going  to 
claim  the  promise  ?' 

'  Papa,  may  I  ?' 

'  Certainly.' 

*  But  papa, — does  the  promise  stand  good,  like  Herod's 
promise  to  that  dancing  woman  ?  is  it  to  be  whatever  I 
ask?' 

'  I  believe  I  said  so,  Daisy.  By  the  way,  why  do  you 
not  like  dancing  ?' 

'I  suppose  I  should  like  it,  papa,  if  I  let  myself  do  it.7 

'Why  not  let  yourself  do  it?  You  do  not  want  to 
make  yourself  singular,  Daisy.' 

'  No  more  than  I  must,  papa.  But  about  your  pro 
mise.' 

'  Yes.     Well?' 

'It  stands  good,  papa?  if  it  is  "to  the  half  of  your 
kingdom."  ; 

'  That  was  a  rash  promise  of  Herod,  Daisy.' 

'Yes,  papa;  but  I  am  not  a  dancing  girl.' 

Papa  laughed,  and  looked  at  me,  and  laughed  again, 
and  seemed  a  good  deal  amused. 

'  What  put  that  argument  into  your  mouth  ?'  he  said. 
'  And  what  is  the  reason  that  it  is  an  argument  ?  You 
are  very  absurd,  Daisy!  You  are  very  absurd  not  to 
dance ;  so  your  mother  says ;  and  I  am  absurd  too,  by 
that  reasoning ;  for  I  like  you  better  than  if  you  did. 
Well,  not  being  a  dancing  girl,  what  is  your  petition  ?  I 
reckon  it  will  stand  good,  even  to  the  half  of  my  kingdom. 
Though  indeed  I  do  not  know  how  much  of  a  kingdom 
will  remain  to  me,  by  the  time  matters  are  composed  at 
home.  There  will  be  no  crops  grown  at  the  South  this 
year.' 


A    TRUCE.  201 

'  It  would  not  cost  more  to  go  to  Palestine,  would  it, 
papa,  than  to  live  as  we  are  doing  now  ?' 

'  Palestine !'  he  exclaimed.  '  Your  mother  would  never 
go  to  Palestine,  Daisy/ 

'But  you  and  I  might,  papa, — for  a  few  months. 
You  know  mamma  wants  to  go  to  Paris,  to  be  there  with 
Aunt  Gary,  who  is  coming.' 

'  She  wants  you  there  too,  Daisy,  I  much  suspect ;  not 
to  speak  of  me.' 

'  What  better  time  can  we  ever  have,  papa  ?' 

*  I  do  not  know.  I  am  afraid  your  mother  would  say 
any  other  would  be  better.' 

'  Papa,  I  cannot  tell  you  how  glad  I  should  be  to  go 
now.' 

'  Why,  Daisy  ?'  said  papa  looking  at  me.  '  To  my  cer 
tain  knowledge,  there  are  several  people  who  will  be 
desolate  if  you  quit  Florence  at  this  time — several  be 
sides  your  mother.' 

1  Papa, — that  is  the  very  reason  why  I  should  like  to 
go — before  it  becomes  serious.' 

Papa  became  serious  immediately.  He  lifted  my  face 
to  look  at  it,  flushed  as  I  suppose  it  was ;  and  kissed  me, 
with  a  smile  which  did  not  in  the  least  belie  the  serious 
ness. 

'If  we  go  to  Paris,  Daisy? — we  should  leave  your 
enemies  behind/ 

'  No  papa — two  of  them  are  going  to  Paris  when  we  go/ 

'  That  is  serious,'  said  my  father.  '  After  all,  why  not, 
Daisy?' 

'O  papa,  let  us  get  away  while  it  is  time!'  I  said. 
'  Mamma  was  so  displeased  with  me  because  of  Mr.  de 
Saussure  and  Mr.  Marshall;  and  she  will  be  again — 
perhaps/ 

'Why,  Daisy,'  said  papa  lifting  my  face  again  for 
scrutiny, — '  how  do  you  know  ?  are  you  cased  in  proof 


202  DAISY. 

armour?  are  you  sure?  Do  yju  know  what  you  are 
talking  of,  Daisy  ?' 

'Yes, — I  know,  papa/ 

'I  see  you  do.  Whenever  your  eyes  are  deep  and 
calm  like  that,  you  are  always  in  your  right  mind  and 
know  it.  That  is,  you  are  thoroughly  yourself ;  and  so 
far  as  my  limited  acquaintance  with  you  goes,  there  is  no 
other  mind  that  has  the  power  of  turning  you.  Yes, 
Daisy ;  we  will  go  to  Palestine,  you  and  I.' 

I  kissed  his  hand,  in  the  extremity  of  my  joy. 

*  But  this  is  not  a  proper  season  for  travelling  in  Syria, 
my  pet.  I  am  afraid  it  is  not.  The  winter  rains  make 
the  roads  bad/ 

'O  yes,  papa.  We  will  be  quiet  when  it  rains,  and 
travel  on  the  good  days.  And  then  we  shall  be  in  time 
to  see  the  spring  flowers.' 

'How  do  you  know  anything  about  that,  Daisy?' 

'  Papa,  I  remember  when  I  was  a  child,  at  Melbourne, 
Mr.  Dinwiddie  told  me  some  of  these  things ;  and  I  have 
never  forgotten.' 

'Have  you  wanted  to  go  to  Palestine  ever  since  you 
were  ten  years  old?' 

'O  no,  papa;  only  of  late.  When  your  promise  came, 
then  I  thought  very  soon  what  I  would  ask  you.  And 
now  is  such  a  good  time.' 

'There  will  be  different  opinions  about  that,'  said  my 
father.  '  However,  we  will  go,  Daisy.  To  the  half  of 
my  kingdom.  Your  mother  has  the  other  half.  But  al 
low  me  to  ask  you  just  in  passing,  what  do  you  think  of 
our  young  English  friend?' 

'  He  has  no  head,  papa.' 

Papa  looked  amused. 

'  Signor  Piacevoli — what  do  you  think  of  him  ?' 

'He  is  very  nice  and  kind  and  full  of  good  things; 
but  he  has  no  principles,  papa ;  no  settled  principles.' 


A    TRUCE.  203 

'He  has  a  head,'  said  papa. 

'Yes,  sir;  out  of  order.' 

'How  do  you  estimate  Mr.  Leypoldt,  then?  his  head  is 
in  order,  and  a  good  deal  in  it.' 

'Only  the  truth  left  out,  papa.' 

'The  truth?'  said  rny  father.  'He  is  fuller  of  truth, 
of  all  sorts,  than  any  one  else  I  know,  Daisy.' 

'Truth  of  all  sorts,  papa,  but  not  the  truth.  He  under 
stands  the  world,  and  almost  everything  in  it;  but  not 
who  made  it  nor  what  it  was  made  for;  and  he  knows 
men ;  but  not  their  work,  or  place,  or  destiny  in  the  uni 
verse.  He  knows  what  they  are ;  he  has  no  idea  what  they 
ought  to  be,  or  what  they  may  be.' 

'  He  is  not  a  religious  man,  certainly.  Do  you  carry 
your  principles  so  far,  Daisy,  that  you  mean  you  would 
not  let  anybody  approach  you  who  is  not  of  your  way  of 
thinking?' 

A  pang  shot  through  my  heart,  with  the  instant  sense 
of  the  answer  I  ought  to  give.  I  might  have  evaded  the 
question ;  but  I  would  not.  Yet  I  could  not  immediately 
speak.  I  was  going  to  put  a  bond  upon  myself;  and  the 
words  would  not  come. 

'  Do  you  mean  that,  Daisy  ?'  papa  repeated.  '  Seriously. 
Is  it  your  rule  of  supposed  duty,  that  a  man  must  be  a 
Christian  after  your  sort,  to  obtain  your  favour?' 

'Papa,'  I  said  struggling, — 'one  cannot  control  one's 
liking.' 

'No,' said  papa  laughing;  'that  is  very  true.  'Then 
if  you  liked  somebody  who  was  not  that  sort  of  a  Chris 
tian,  Daisy,  you  would  not  refuse  to  marry  him?' 

'Papa,'  I  said  with  difficulty, — 'I  think  I  ought.' 

The  words  struck  upon  my  own  heart,  I  cannot  tell 
how  heavily.  But  they  were  forced  from  me.  When 
the  question  came,  it  had  to  be  answered.  I  suppose  the 
matter  had  really  been  in  my  mind  before,  vaguely,  and 


204  DAISY. 

I  had  refused  to  look  at  it,  while  yet  I  could  not  help 
seeing  its  proportions  and  bearing;  so  that  when  papa 
asked  me  I  knew  what  I  must  say.  But  the  spoken 
words  stunned  me,  for  all  that. 

'I  suppose/  said  papa,  not  lightly,  'you  will  think  so 
till  you  are  tried;  and  then  you  will  take  a  woman's 
privilege  of  changing  your  mind.  But  if  the  trial  is  to 
come  in  that  shape,  Daisy,  it  is  very  far  off.  There  are 
no  men  of  your  way  of  thinking,  my  pet/ 

He  kissed  me  as  he  said  it;  and  I  could  not  for  a  mo 
ment  speak. 

'But  we  will  go  to  Palestine,  papa?' 

'Yes,  we  will  go  to  Palestine.  That  is  fixed.  You 
and  I  will  take  a  holiday,  and  for  a  while  give  up  all 
thoughts  of  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage/ 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

FLIGHT. 

I  AM  coming  to  the  holiday  of  my  life;  a  time  that 
seems,  as  I  look  back  to  it,  like  a  chequered  mosaic  of 
pleasure  pieces  laid  in  bright  colours,  all  in  harmony, 
and  making  out  a  pattern  of  beauty.  It  is  odd  I  should 
speak  so;  for  I  have  known  other  holidays,  when  fewer 
clouds  were  in  my  sky  and  fewer  life-shadows  stretching 
along  the  landscape.  Nevertheless,  this  is  how  it  looks  to 
me  in  the  retrospect ;  and  to  write  of  it,  is  like  setting 
the  pins  of  that  mosaic  work  over  again.  Not  one  of 
them  is  lost  in  my  memory. 

Truly  I  have  known  other  holidays;  yet  never  one 
that  took  me  out  of  so  much  harassment  and  perplexity. 
And  I  could  not  get  rid  of  all  my  burdens,  even  in 
Palestine;  but  somehow  I  got  rid  of  all  my  anxious  trou 
ble  about  them.  I  had  left  behind  so  much,  that  I  ac 
cepted  even  thankfully  all  that  remained.  I  was  free  from 
mamma's  schemes  for  me,  and  cleared  from  the  pursuit 
of  those  who  seconded  her  schemes;  they  could  not 
follow  me  in  the  Holy  Land.  No  more  angry  discussions 
of  affairs  at  home,  and  words  of  enmity  and  fierce  dis 
pleasure  toward  the  part  of  the  nation  that  held  my 
heart.  No  more  canvassing  of  war  news;  not  much 
hearing  of  them,  even ;  a  clean  escape  from  the  demands 
of  society  and  leisure  for  a  time  to  look  into  my  heart 
and  see  what  condition  it  was  in.  And  to  my  great  as 
tonishment  I  had  found  the  love  of  admiration  and  the 
VOL.  ii.— 18  205 


206  DAISY. 

ambition  of  womanly  vanity  beginning  to  stir  again :  in 
me,  who  knew  better  things,  and  who  really  did  not  value 
these;  in  me,  who  had  so  much  to  make  me  sober  and 
keep  down  thoughts  of  folly.  I  found  that  I  had  a  cer 
tain  satisfaction  when  entering  a  room,  to  know  that  the 
sight  of  me  gave  pleasure;  yes,  more;  I  liked  to  feel 
that  the  sight  of  no  one  else  gave  so  much  pleasure.  I 
could  hardly  understand,  when  I  came  to  look  at  it,  how 
so  small  a  satisfaction  could  have  taken  possession  of  my 
mind;  I  was  very  much  ashamed;  but  the  fact  remained. 
When  we  set  sail  for  Palestine  I  got  clear,  at  least  for  the 
time,  from  all  this.  I  hoped  for  ever.  And  it  was  exceed 
ingly  sweet  to  find  myself  alone  with  papa. 

How  mamma  ever  consented  to  the  plan,  I  do  not 
know.  Because  papa  had  settled  it  and  given  his  word, 
perhaps  ;  for  in  those  cases  I  know  she  never  interfered  ; 
necessity  made  her  yield.  She  would  not  go  with  us ; 
she  went  to  Paris,  where  Aunt  Gary  was  come  for  tho 
winter.  Ransom  went  home  to  join  the  army ;  and 
papa  and  I  took  our  holiday.  I  ought  not  to  have  been 
so  happy,  with  so  many  causes  of  anxiety  on  my  mind ; 
Ransom  in  the  war  on  one  side,  and  Christian  already 
engaged  on  the  opposite  side ;  both  in  danger,  not  to 
speak  of  other  friends  whom  I  knew ;  and  my  own  and 
Mr.  Thorold's  future  so  very  dark  to  look  forward  to. 
But  I  was  happy.  I  believe,  the  very  enormous  pressure 
of  things  to  trouble  me,  helped  me  to  throw  off  the 
weight.  In  fact,  it  was  too  heavy  for  me  to  bear.  I  had 
trusted  and  given  up  myself  to  God ;  it  was  not  a  mock 
trust  or  submission ;  I  laid  off  my  cares,  or  in  the  ex 
pressive  Bible  words,  "rolled  them"  upon  him.  And 
then  I  went  light.  Even  my  self-spoken  sentence,  the 
declaration  that  I  ought  not  to  marry  a  person  who  was 
not  a  Christian,  did  not  crush  me  as  I  thought  it  would. 
Somebody  has  said  very  truly,  "  There  is  a  healing  power 


FLIGHT.  207 

in  truth."  It  is  correct  in  more  ways  than  one.  And 
especially  in  truth  towards  God,  in  whole-hearted  devo 
tion  to  him,  or  as  the  Bible  says  again,  in  "wholly  fol 
lowing  the  Lord,"  there  is  strength  and  healing;  " quiet 
ness  and  assurance  for  ever."  I  was  no  nearer  despair 
now  than  I  had  been  before.  And  I  was  more  ready  for 
my  holiday. 

My  holiday  began  on  board  the  steamer,  among  the 
novel  varieties  of  character  and  costume  by  which  I 
found  myself  surrounded.  I  was  certainly  getting  far 
away  from  the  American  war,  far  from  Parisian  saloons ; 
I  could  not  even  regret  the  Dome  of  Florence.  And  I 
shall  never  forget  the  minute  when  I  first  looked  upon 
the  coast  of  Jaffa.  I  had  been  in  the  cabin  and  papa 
called  me ;  and  with  the  sight,  a  full,  delicious  sensation 
of  pleasure  entered  my  heart,  and  never  left  it,  I  think, 
while  I  stayed  in  the  land.  The  picture  is  all  before  me. 
The  little  white  town,  shining  in  the  western  sun  on  its 
hill,  with  its  foot  in  the  water ;  the  surf  breaking  on 
the  rocks ;  and  the  long  line  of  high  land  in  the  distance, 
which  I  knew  was  the  hill  country  of  Palestine.  I  was 
glad,  with  a  fulness  of  gladness.  Even  the  terrors  of 
landing  through  the  surf  could  not  dash  my  pleasure, 
though  the  water  was  not  quiet  enough  to  make  it  safe, 
and  I  did  not  see  how  we  were  possibly  to  get  through. 
I  thought  we  would,  and  we  did ;  and  then  out  of  the 
confusion  on  the  quay  we  found  our  way  to  a  nice  little 
hotel.  Few  things  I  suppose  are  nice  in  Jaffa ;  but  this 
really  seemed  clean,  and  I  am  sure  it  was  pleasant.  The 
Oriental  style  of  the  house — the  courtyard,  and  alcove 
rooms,  stone  floors  and  cushioned  divans, — were  delight 
ful  to  me.  And  so  was  our  first  dinner  there  ;  papa  and 
I  alone,  tired  and  hungry,  and  eating  with  the  Mediter 
ranean  full  in  sight,  and  the  sun  going  down  '  ayont  the 
sea.'  I  established  a  truce  with  sorrowful  thoughts  that 


208  DAISY. 

evening,  and  slept  the  night  through  in  peace.  The  next 
morning  papa  found  me  standing  at  the  window  of  one 
of  our  rooms  that  looked  inward  from  the  sea. 

'  Well,  Daisy,'  said  he  putting  his  hands  on  my  shoul 
ders — '  I  have  got  my  Daisy  of  ten  years  old  back  again. 
What  is  it  now  ?' 

'O  papa,'  I  exclaimed,  'look  at  the  housetops!  I 
have  read  of  housetops  all  my  life ;  and  now  here  they 
are!' 

'They  have  been  here  all  the  time,  Daisy.' 

'  But  it  is  so  impossible  to  realize  without  seeing  it, 
papa.  It  was  on  such  a  housetop  that  Peter  was  when 
he  had  his  vision.  You  can  see,  it  is  the  pleasantest 
part  of  the  house,  papa.  I  should  like  to  sleep  on  the 
housetop,  as  they  do  in  summer ;  with  only  the  stars  over 
me.  How  nice!' 

'  What  was  Peter's  vision,  besides  the  stars  ?' 

'Papa!  Not  the  stars;  his  vision  was  at  noonday. 
I  have  just  been  reading  about  it.  How  delicious  the 
Bible  will  be  here!' 

'  It  is  always  delicious  to  you,  I  think,'  papa  said  ;  I 
fancied  rather  sadly.  '  It  is  a  taste  you  were  born  with. 
Sit  down  and  read  me  about  that  vision.' 

But  it  was  papa  that  sat  down,  and  I  stood  by  the 
window,  and  we  read  together  those  chapters  of  the  Acts ; 
and  papa  grew  very  much  interested,  and  we  had  an  ex 
cellent  talk  all  breakfast  time.  The  strange  dishes  at 
breakfast  helped  the  interest  too ;  the  boiled  rice  and 
meat,  and  the  fish  and  the  pomegranates.  I  seemed  to 
have  my  living  in  Bible  times  as  well  as  places.  The 
Mediterranean  lay  sparkling  before  us ;  as  it  was  before 
Peter  no  doubt  when  he  went  up  to  that  housetop  to  pray. 
The  house  is  gone  ;  but  it  is  the  same  sea  yet. 

'I  shall  always  look  upon  Jaffa  with  respect,'  said 
papa  at  last ;  '  since  here  it  was  that  the  gates  of  religion 


FLIGHT.  209 

were  publicly  set  open  for  all  the  world,  and  the  key 
taken  out  of  the  hands  of  the  Jews.  It  is  a  little  place 
too,  to  have  anything  of  so  much  interest  belonging  to  it.' 

'That  is  not  all,  papa/  I  said.  'Solomon  had  the 
cedar  for  the  Temple,  and  for  all  his  great  buildings, 
floated  down  here/ 

'Solomon !'  said  papa. 

'Don't  you  remember,  sir,  his  great  works,  and  the 
timber  he  had  to  get  from  Lebanon  ?' 

'  Did  it  come  this  way  ?' 

'  The  only  way  it  could  come,  papa ;  and  then  it  had 
to  go  by  land  up  to  Jerusalem — the  same  way  that  we 
are  going;  thirty-three  miles/ 

'  Where  did  you  learn  so  much  about  it  ?' 

'  That  isn't  much,  papa ;  all  that  is  in  Murray ;  but 
now  may  I  read  you  about  Solomon's  floats  of  timber, 
while  you  are  finishing  that  pomegranate  ?' 

'  Read  away,'  said  papa.  '  Pomegranates  are  not  ripe 
now,  are  they  ?' 

'They  keep,  papa.' 

Papa  laughed  at  me,  and  I  read  to  him  as  much  as  I 
liked ;  and  he  was  almost  as  much  engaged  as  I  was. 

'We'll  go  out  and  look  at  this  famous  harbour  for 
lumber,'  he  said.  '  It  is  not  good  for  much  else,  Daisy ; 
I  thought  yesterday  we  should  certainly  make  shipwreck 
on  that  reef.  Is  it  possible  there  is  no  better  along  the 
coast.' 

'  It  is  not  what  we  would  call  a  harbour  at  all,  papa. 
Nothing  but  little  boats  can  get  through  that  narrow 
opening  in  the  reef;  and  I  suppose,  Solomon's  cedar  tim 
ber  got  through/ 

'  The  ships  of  old  time  were  not  much  more  than  our 
boats,  many  of  them,'  said  my  father.  '  How  delightfully 
you  realize  everything,  Daisy!' 

'  Well,  papa,— don't  you  ?' 

18*  0 


210  DAISY. 

'  Not  the  past,  child.     I  realize  you  by  my  side.' 

'  Papa,  if  you  think  about  it  a  little,  you  will  realize 
Joppa  too.' 

'  I  have  not  your  imagination,  Daisy.  About  Solo 
mon's  temple, — there  is  nothing  of  it  left  now,  I  suppose?' 

'O  no,  papa!' 

1  It  might,  Daisy.     Thebes  is  vastly  older.' 

'  But  papa, — don't  you  remember,  there  was  not  one 
stone  of  all  those  buildings  to  be  left  upon  another  stone. 
Nothing  is  left — only  some  of  the  foundation  wall  that 
supported  the  floor,  or  the  platform,  of  the  Temple.' 

'  Well,  we  shall  see,  when  we  go  to  Jerusalem,'  my 
father  said. 

In  the  mean  time  we  went  out  and  took  a  great  walk 
about  the  environs  of  Joppa.  Through  the  miles  of 
gardens ;  the  grand  orange  groves,  and  pomegranate 
lemon,  fig,  apricot  and  palm  orchards.  The  oranges  and 
lemons  getting  their  great  harvests  ready ;  cultivation 
going  on  beneath  the  trees ;  the  water-wheels  working ; 
the  curious  hedges  of  prickly  pear,  four  and  six  feet  high, 
reminding  us  all  the  while,  if  nothing  else  did,  that  we 
were  in  a  very  strange  land.  What  endless  delight  it 
was  !  The  weather  had  just  cleared  the  day  before ;  and 
to-day,  the  fifteenth  of  January,  the  sun  shone  still  and 
fair  and  warm.  I  saw  that  papa  was  getting  good  with 
every  step,  and  growing  interested  with  every  hour.  We 
went  down  to  the  beach,  and  strolled  along  as  far  as  the 
tanneries ;  every  wave  that  broke  at  my  side  seeming  to 
sing  in  my  ears  the  reminder  that  it  broke  on  the  shores 
of  Palestine.  Papa  wished  the  oranges  were  ripe;  I 
wished  for  nothing. 

Then  we  entered  the  city  again,  and  examined  the 
bazars  ;  lingering  first  a  good  while  to  watch  the  motley, 
picturesque,  strange  and  wild  crowd  without  the  city  gate. 
It  was  my  first  taste  of  Oriental  life ;  papa  knew  it  be- 


FLIGHT.  211 

fore,  but  he  relished  it  all  afresh  in  my  enjoyment  of  it. 
Of  course  we  were  taken  to  see  Simon's  house  and  the 
house  where  Tabitha  died. 

'Do  you  realize  anything  here,  Daisy?'  papa  asked  as 
we  stood  on  the  flat  roof  of  the  first  of  these  two. 

'  Yes,  papa/ 

1  Pray,  what  ?  St.  Peter  never  saw  this  building,  my 
dear.' 

'  No,  papa,  I  don't  think  it.  But  he  saw  the  Mediter 
ranean — -just  so, — and  he  had  the  same  sky  over  him, 
and  the  same  shores  before  him.' 

« The  same  sky,  Daisy  ?     What  is  the  sky  ?' 

'  Yes  papa,  I  know ;  but  there  is  a  difference.  This 
Syrian  sky  is  not  like  the  sky  over  Florence  nor  like  the 
sky  over  Melbourne.  And  this  is  what  Peter  saw.' 

'You  are  a  delicious  travelling  companion,  Daisy/ 
said  papa.  'Your  mother  is  good,  but  you  are  better. 
Well,  take  me  with  you  now  in  your  journey  into  the 
past.' 

We  sat  down  there  on  the  roof  of  the  so-called  house  of 
Simon,  papa  and  I ;  he  gave  the  guide  a  bonus  to  keep  him 
contented ;  and  we  read  together  chapters  in  the  Old  Testa 
ment  and  chapters  in  the  New.  It  was  drinking  water 
from  wells  of  delight.  Bible  words  never  seemed  so  real, 
nor  so  full.  And  then  when  I  thought  that  I  was  going 
on  to  Jerusalem — to  Jericho — to  Mount  Tabor,  and  the 
Sea  of  Galilee,  and  Lebanon, — that  Joppa  was  only  the 
beginning, — I  could  hardly  contain  my  joy.  I  could 
only  give  thanks  for  it  all  the  time.  True,  I  did  remem 
ber,  as  I  looked  over  that  bright  sea  of  the  Levant,  I  did 
remember  that  far  away  there  was  a  region  of  conflict 
where  the  interests  nearest  to  me  were  involved  ;  a  strife 
going  on,  in  which  the  best  blood  in  the  world,  the  dear 
est  in  my  account,  might  be  shed  or  shedding.  I  remem 
bered  it  all.  But  the  burden  of  that  care  was  too  heavy 


212  DAISY 

for  me  to  carry ;  I  was  fain  to  lay  it  down  where  so  many 
a  load  has  been  laid  before  now ;  and  it  was  easier  for 
me  to  do  it  in  Syria  than  anywhere  else;  God's  own 
land,  where  his  people  had  had  so  many  tokens  to  trust 
him.  Where  Peter's  doubts  of  conscience  were  resolved 
by  a  vision,  where  the  poor  worker  of  kindness  was  raised 
from  the  sleep  of  death,  it  was  not  there  the  place  for 
me  to  doubt  whether  the  Lord  looked  upon  my  trouble, 
or  whether  he  cared  about  it,  or  whether  he  could  manage 
it.  I  laid  care  and  doubt  to  sleep ;  and  while  I  was  in 
the  Lord's  land  I  walked  with  the  Lord's  presence  always 
before  me.  There  is  no  want  to  them  that  fear  him. 

We  were  detained  at  Joppa  three  days  by  a  most  pour 
ing  rain,  which  kept  us  fast  prisoners  in  doors.  The 
time  was  however  not  lost.  We  had  despaired  of  making 
arrangements  at  Joppa  for  our  journey,  any  further  than 
such  as  would  take  us  to  Jerusalem.  Joppa  is  no  place  for 
such  arrangements.  But  while  we  waited  there  in  the  rain, 
a  party  of  English  people  arrived  who  came  to  take  the 
steamer  for  home.  They  had  just  ended  their  travels  in 
the  Holy  Land ;  and  while  waiting  for  the  steamer,  one 
of  them  who  was  an  invalid  sought  the  shelter  of  our 
hotel.  We  came  to  know  each  other.  And  the  end  was, 
we  secured  their  travelling  equipment.  Tents,  servants 
and  all,  were  made  over  to  papa,  with  mutual  pleasure  at 
the  arrangement.  So  when  the  sun  shone  out  on  the 
fourth  day,  we  were  ready  to  start  in  great  comfort.  I 
had  a  dear  little  Syrian  pony,  which  carried  me  nicely 
through  my  whole  journey  ;  papa  had  another  that  served 
him  well.  The  tents  and  tent  fittings  were  in  the  English 
style  of  perfection ;  cook  and  interpreter  and  other  ser 
vants  knew  their  business,  and  we  had  no  reason  to  com 
plain  of  them  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  our  tour. 
Moreover,  in  those  days  of  waiting  at  Joppa,  and  inter 
course  with  the  ladies  of  the  party,  I  got  from  them  some 


FLIGHT.  213 

useful  hints  and  details  which  were  of  great  service  to 
me  afterwards.  I  had  always  wished  to  go  through 
Palestine  living  in  our  own  tents ;  papa  had  been  a  little 
uncertain  how  he  would  do.  Now  it  was  settled.  I  had 
my  maid,  of  course ;  but  she  was  the  greatest  trouble  I 
had,  all  the  way. 

The  morning  of  our  setting  out  from  Joppa  is  never  to 
be  forgotten.  It  was  clear  and  balmy.  For  miles  we 
rode  through  the  orange  gardens,  getting  ready  fast  for 
their  superb  harvest,  which  would  be  ripe  a  month  later. 
Then  through  a  pleasant  open  country ;  cornfields  and 
meadows  interspersed  with  trees  in  patches.  It  was  easy 
riding,  and  I  liked  my  pony,  and  my  heart  was  full  of 
exhilaration. 

1  Well  ?'  said  papa,  as  my  eye  met  his  one  time  in  the 
course  of  its  wanderings. 

'  Papa,  it  is  the  plain  of  Sharon  !' 

*  You  speak  as  if  it  were  a  place  where  you  had  played 
when  you  were  a  child.' 

'Papa,  in  some  measure  it  is  like  that;  so  often  I 
have  read  about  the  old  things  that  were  done  here.' 

Papa  smiled  at  me  and  asked  what  ?  But  I  could  not 
tell  him  while  we  were  going  at  a  canter. 

'It  would  be  pretty  in  spring,'  he  said.  'Where  are 
we  to  stop  to-night,  Daisy?  I  have  left  all  that  to  you. 
I  do  not  know  the  country  as  you  do/ 

'  Papa,  we  set  off  so  late,  we  shall  not  be  able  to  get 
further  than  Latron  to-night.' 

'What  place  is  that?  is  it  any  place?' 

'Supposed  to  be  the  Modin  of  the  Maccabees.' 

'Have  you  brought  any  books,  Daisy?'  was  papa's 
next  question. 

'No,  papa,  except  'Murray,'  and  the  Bible.' 

'We  ought  to  have  more,'  he  said.  'We  must  see  if 
we  cannot  supply  that  want  at  Jerusalem.' 


214  DAtsr. 

Papa's  interest  in  the  subject  was  thoroughly  waking 
up.  We  lunched  at  Ramleh.  How  present  it  is  to  me, 
those  hours  we  spent  there.  The  olive  groves  and  orch 
ards  and  cornfields,  the  palms  and  figs,  the  prickly  pear 
hedges,  the  sweet  breath  of  the  air.  And  after  our 
luncheon  we  stayed  to  examine  the  ruins  and  the  minaret. 
Our  master  of  ceremonies,  Suleiman,  was  a  little  impa 
tient  But  we  got  off  in  good  time  and  reached  our 
camping  ground  just  before  sunset.  There  too,  the  sun 
light  flashing  on  those  rocks  of  ruin  comes  back  to  me, 
and  the  wide  plain  and  sea  view  which  the  little  hill  com 
mands.  Papa  and  I  climbed  it  to  look  at  the  ruins  and 
see  the  view  while  dinner  was  getting  ready. 

'What  is  it,  Daisy?'  he  said.  'You  must  be  my 
gazetteer  and  interpreter  for  the  land;  Suleiman  will  do 
for  the  people.' 

'It  is  an  old  Crusaders'  fortress,  papa;  built  to  com 
mand  the  pass  to  Jerusalem.' 

That  was  enough  for  papa.  He  pored  over  the  rough 
remains  and  their  associations;  while  I  sat  down  on  a 
stone  and  looked  over  the  Philistine  plain ;  scarce  able 
to  convince  myself  that  I  was  so  happy  as  to  see  it  in 
reality.  Papa  and  I  had  a  most  enjoyable  dinner  after 
wards;  he  enjoyed  it,  I  knew;  and  our  night's  rest  was 
sweet,  with  a  faint  echo  of  the  war  storms  of  the  ages 
breaking  upon  my  ear. 

To  my  great  joy,  there  was  no  storm  of  the  elements 
the  next  morning,  and  we  were  able  to  take  up  our  march 
for  Jerusalem.  The  road  soon  was  among  the  hills; 
rough,  thickety,  wild;  from  one  glen  into  another,  down 
and  up  steep  ridge  sides,  always  mounting  of  course  by 
degrees.  Rough  as  it  all  was,  there  were  olives  and  vine 
yards  sometimes  to  be  seen;  often  terraced  hillsides 
which  spoke  of  what  had  been.  At  last  we  came  up  out 
of  a  deep  glen  and  saw  at  a  distance  the  white  line  of 


FLIGHT.  215 

wall  which  tells  of  Jerusalem.  I  believe  it  was  a  dreary 
piece  of  country  which  lay  between,  but  I  could  hardly 
know  what  it  was.  My  thoughts  were  fixed  on  that  white 
wall.  I  forgot  even  papa. 

We  had  pouring  rains  again  soon  after  we  got  to  Jeru 
salem.  I  was  half  glad.  So  much  to  see  and  think  of  at 
once,  it  was  almost  a  relief  to  be  obliged  to  take  things 
gradually.  I  had  been  given  numerous  good  bits  of 
counsel  by  the  kind  English  ladies  we  had  seen  at  Jaffa ; 
and  according  to  their  advice  I  persuaded  papa  that  we 
should  go  down  at  once  to  Jericho  and  the  Dead  Sea, 
without  waiting  till  the  weather  should  grow  too  hot  for  it; 
then  Jerusalem  and  the  Mount  of  Olives  and  all  the  neigh 
bourhood  would  be  delightful.  Now,  they  were  very 
gray  and  forlorn  to  a  stranger's  eye.  I  wanted  papa  to 
be  pleased.  /  could  have  enjoyed  Jerusalem  at  any 
time.  But  I  knew  that  by  and  by  Jericho  would  be  in 
supportable. 

So  papa  and  Suleiman  made  their  arrangements.  All 
that  we  wanted  was  a  guard  of  Arabs;  everything  else 
we  had  already.  The  rain  ceased  after  the  third  day; 
and  early  in  the  morning  we  went  out  of  the  eastern  gate 
of  the  city  and  moved  slowly  down  the  slope  of  the 
Kedron  valley  and  up  the  side  of  Mount  Olivet. 

It  was  my  first  ride  in  the  environs  of  Jerusalem ;  and 
I  could  hardly  bear  the  thoughts  it  brought  up.  Yet 
there  was  scant  time  for  thoughts  ;  eyes  had  to  be  so  busy. 
The  valley  of  the  Kedron !  I  searched  its  depths,  only 
to  find  tombs  everywhere,  with  olive  trees  sprinkled  about 
among  them.  Life  and  death  ;  for  if  anything  is  an  em 
blem  of  life  in  Palestine,  I  suppose  it  is  the  olive.  They 
looked  sad  to  me  at  first,  the  olives;  their  blue-gray 
foliage  had  so  little  of  the  fresh  cheer  of  our  green  woods. 
Afterwards  I  thought  differently.  But  certainly  the 
valley  of  the  Kedron  was  desolate  and  mournful  in  the 


216  DAISY. 

extreme,  as  we  first  saw  it.  Nor  was  Olivet  less  so.  The 
echo  of  forfeited  promises  seemed  to  fill  my  ear;  the 
shades  of  lost  glory  seemed  to  tenant  all  those  ways  and 
hillsides.  I  could  but  think  what  feet  had  trod  those 
paths;  what  hands  of  blessing  had  been  held  out  on 
these  hills ;  turned  back  and  rejected,  to  the  utter  ruin 
of  those  who  rejected  them.  The  places  of  Solomon's 
splendour  and  David's  honour,  in  the  hands  of  the  Mos 
lem  ;  or  buried  beneath  the  ruins  of  twenty  desolations. 
And  in  the  midst  of  such  thoughts  which  possessed  me 
constantly,  came  thrills  of  joy  that  I  was  there.  So  we 
mounted  over  the  shoulder  of  the  Mount  of  Olives,  and 
the  day  cleared  and  brightened  as  we  went  on.  Then  came 
the  ruins  of  Bethany.  I  would  have  liked  to  linger  there ; 
but  this  was  not  the  time.  I  left  it  for  the  present. 

'  We  must  dismount  here,  Daisy,'  said  papa  the  next 
minute.  And  he  set  me  the  example.  '  Our  own  feet 
will  do  this  next  piece  of  road  most  satisfactorily.' 

We  scrambled  down,  over  the  loose  stones  and  rock, 
the  very  steep  pitch  just  below  Bethany.  I  do  not  know 
how  deep,  but  hundreds  of  feet  certainly.  Our  mules 
and  horses  came  on  as  they  could. 

'  Is  this  to  be  taken  as  a  specimen  of  Palestine  roads, 
Daisy  ?' 

'  I  believe  they  are  pretty  bad,  papa.' 

'  How  do  you  like  it  ?' 

'O  papa,'  said  I  stopping,  'I  like  it.  Look — look 
yonder — do  you  see  that  glimmer  ?  do  you  know  what 
that  is,  papa  ?' 

'  It  is  water — ' 

1  It  is  the  Dead  Sea/ 

'Thirty-six  hundred  feet  below.  We  have  a  sharp 
ride  before  us,  Daisy.' 

'Not  quite  so  much  below  us — we  have  come  down 
some  way.  Papa,  don't  you  enjoy  it?' 


FLIGHT.  217 

*I  enjoy  you,'  he  said  smiling.  'Yes,  child,  I  enjoy 
it;  only  I  don't  enjoy  such  villainous  roads.' 

1  But  then,  papa,  you  know  it  is  the  only  possible  way 
the  road  can  go,  and  always  has  been;  and  so  we  are 
sure  that  Christ  was  here  many  a  time.  Here,  papa, 
where  our  feet  are  treading/ 

Papa  looked  at  me  and  said  nothing. 

The  way  wras  so  pleasant,  that  we  walked  on  ahead  of 
our  mules,  till  we  came  to  the  spring  about  a  mile  from 
Bethany.  It  was  strange  to  look  at  the  water  pouring 
out  its  never  failing  stream,  and  to  remember  it  had  been 
doing  just  so  ever  since  nineteen  hundred  years  ago. 

'  How  often  travellers  have  rested  here  and  drunk  of 
the  water,  papa  ;  how  often  Christ  was  here.' 

'That  arch  was  not  over  the  spring  in  those  days, 
though,'  said  papa. 

But  papa  stood  and  looked  at  the  spring  and  at  the 
ravine,  and  I  saw  that  he  was  catching  something  of  my 
feeling.  We  mounted  there,  and  the  rest  of  the  way  we 
had  no  more  talk.  I  did  not  want  to  talk.  There  was 
too  much  to  think  about,  as  we  wound  down  the  rough 
valleys  or  watercourses  among  the  desolate  hills ;  while 
the  air  grew  constantly  warmer  as  we  got  lower.  No 
trees,  no  life,  no  vine  terraces ;  and  this  was  the  way  to 
Jericho.  At  the  ruined  khan,  a  good  distance  from  the 
top,  we  dismounted  and  stopped  to  rest  and  take  our 
lunch. 

'Well,  Daisy,'  said  papa,  'are  you  enjoying  yet?' 

'  Every  minute,  papa.' 

'  I  am  very  glad.     But  I  am  very  tired.' 

'  Papa,  you  must  take  a  good  rest  here  ;  and  here  is  an 
orange  for  you.  I  will  give  you  something  else  directly.' 

Papa  stretched  himself  out  wearily  on  the  stones. 

'  What  is  the  source  of  your  pleasure  just  now,  Daisy  ? 
It  is  as  barren  a  landscape  as  ever  I  traversed.' 

VOL.  II. — 19 


218  DAISY. 

'  Papa,  David  went  this  way  when  he  fled  from  Ab 
salom.' 

'  Humph  I'  said  papa,  as  if  there  were  not  much  pleas 
ure  in  that  association. 

'  And  Jesus  and  his  apostles  came  this  way,  up  from 
Jericho;  up  and  down,  I  suppose,  many  a  time;  they 
have  rested  here,  papa.' 

'And  I  see,  Daisy,  you  love  the  ground  where  those 
feet  have  trod.  I  never  could  understand  it  before.  I 
fancy,  I  could  never  attain  power  of  realization  to  get 
near  enough  to  the  subject.' 

'  Do  you  now,  papa  ?' 

'  Hardly.     By  sympathy  with  you,  Daisy/ 

'  A  little  below,  papa,  we  shall  come  to  the  Valley  of 
Achor,  where  Achan  was  stoned.' 

'  I  don't  know  that  story,  Daisy.  You  may  read  it  to 
me.'  . 

We  had  a  long  reading  and  resting  there  by  the  ruined 
khan.  Papa  was  ready  to  listen  and  talk ;  and  I  saw 
that  so  long  as  we  were  in  Palestine  he  would  read  the 
Bible  as  much  as  I  liked.  Then  we  made  the  rest  of  our 
way.  I  knew  he  could  not  but  be  interested  with  that. 
The  scenery  became  so  wild  and  grand  as  to  satisfy  even 
him.  We  got  the  glorious  view  of  the  plains  of  Jericho 
from  the  top  of  the  steep  descent,  and  stood  still  for  some 
time  to  look.  Papa  said  it  was  a  noble  view  ;  but  to  me 
it  was  so  full  of  the  riches  of  association  that  I  could 
hardly  feast  upon  it  enough.  Down  there,  Jericho  of  old 
had  stood  and  fallen  ;  when  the  priests  and  the  people  of 
Israel  compassed  it  about  with  trumpets  of  victory.  There 
or  over  against  it,  the  Jordan  had  been  divided  to  let  the 
people  pass  over.  In  later  days  Elijah  and  Elisha  had 
gone  over  singlehanded.  Down  on  that  plain  had  stood 
Herod's  Jericho,  which  Christ  had  gone  through  time  and 
again ;  where  Zaccheus  climbed  the  tree  to  see  him,  and 


FLIGHT.  219 

Bartimeus  sitting  by  the  wayside  had  cried  out  for  his 
mercy  and  got  it.  What  was  there  before  me  in  all  that 
scene  that  did  not  tell  of  the  power  of  faith — of  the 
grace  of  God — of  the  safety  and  strength  of  his  children 
— of  the  powerlessness  of  their  enemies.  My  heart  sang 
hymns  and  chanted  psalms  of  rejoicing,  while  my  little 
Syrian  pony  stood  still  with  me  at  the  top  of  the  pass  of 
Adummim.  I  even  forgot  papa. 

At  the  bottom  we  found  ourselves  in  a  new  world. 
Water  and  wood,  luxuriant  vegetation  of  many  kinds ; 
a  stream  even  to  ford,  the  brook  which  comes  down  from 
Wady  Kelt,  now  full  with  the  rains ;  a  warm  delicious 
atmosphere,  and  the  sun  shining  on  the  opposite  Moab 
mountains. 

And  then  came  another  sight  which  is  very  pleasant  at 
the  close  of  a  long  day  of  fatigue  and  excitement ;  our 
tents,  up  and  ready  for  us.  Our  Syrian  cook  gave  us  a 
good  dinner ;  and  papa  was  satisfied  to  see  me  so  happy. 
I  thought  he  was  a  little  happy  himself. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

OLD     BATTLEFIELDS. 

THE  next  day  papa  was  so  tired  that  he  would  not  go 
anywhere.  So  I  had  to  be  quiet  too.  It  was  no  hard 
ship.  I  was  rather  glad,  to  take  in  leisurely  the  good  of 
all  I  had  before  and  around  me,  and  have  time  for  it. 
Our  tents  were  pitched  by  the  beautiful  fountain  Ain- 
es-Sultan ;  which  the  books  told  me  was  EliSha's  foun 
tain.  I  wandered  round  it,  examining  the  strange  trees 
and  bushes,  gathering  flowers;  I  found  a  great  many; 
studying  the  lights  and  shades  on  the  Moab  mountains, 
and  casting  longing  looks  towards  the  Dead  Sea  and  the 
Jordan.  I  took  my  maid  with  me  in  my  wanderings, 
and  Suleiman  also  kept  near  me  like  a  shadow ;  but  no 
body  of  all  our  caravan  behaved  to  me  with  anything 
but  the  most  observant  politeness.  The  Arabs,  taught 
I  suppose  by  other  travellers  whom  they  had  attended, 
were  very  eager  to  bring  me  natural  curiosities ;  birds 
and  animals  and  shells  and  plants.  I  had  no  lack  of 
business  and  pleasure  all  that  day.  I  wanted  only  some 
one  to  talk  to  me  who  could  tell  me  things  I  wanted  to 
know. 

The  day  had  come  to  an  end,  almost ;  the  shadow  of 
Quarantania  had  fallen  upon  us ;  and  I  sat  on  a  rock  by 
the  spring  watching  the  colours  of  the  sunset  still  bright 
on  the  trees  in  the  plain,  on  the  water  of  the  sea,  and  on 
the  range  of  the  Moab  hills.  From  all  these  my  thoughts 
had  at  last  wandered  away,  and  were  busy  at  the  other 

220 


OLD  BATTLEFIELDS.  221 

end  of  the  world;  sad,  with  a  great  sense  that  Mr. 
Thorold  was  away  from  me ;  heavy,  with  a  moment's 
contrast  of  pleasures  present  and  pleasures  past.  My 
musings  were  suddenly  broken  by  seeing  that  some  one 
was  close  by  my  side,  and  a  single  glance  said,  a  stranger. 
I  was  startled  and  rose  up,  but  the  stranger  stood  still  and 
seemed  to  wish  to  speak  to  me.  Yet  he  did  not  speak.  I 
saw  the  air  of  a  gentleman,  the  dress  of  a  European  in 
Syria,  the  outlines  of  a  personable  man;  one  glance  at 
his  face  shewed  me  a  bronzed  complexion,  warm-coloured 
auburn  hair,  and  a  frank  and  very  bright  eye.  I  looked 
away,  and  then  irresistibly  was  driven  to  look  back 
again.  He  smiled.  I  was  in  confusion. 

'  Don't  you  know  ?'  he  said. 

'Not—  ?' 

'Yes!' 

'Can  it  be,— Mr.  Dinwiddie?' 

'  Is  it  possible  it  is  Daisy  ?'  he  said,  taking  my  hand. 

'  O  Mr.  Dinwiddie,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you !' 

'  And  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you — here,  of  all  places,  at 
Elisha's  fountain.  The  first  question  is,  How  came  we 
both  here?' 

1 1  persuaded  papa  to  bring  me.  I  wanted  to  see 
Palestine.' 

'And  I  heard  of  you  in  Jerusalem,  and  felt  sure  it 
must  be  you,  and  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  take 
a  little  journey  after  you.' 

'  And  you  are  travelling  through  Palestine  too  ?' 

'  In  one  way.  I  am  living  here — and  life  is  a  journey, 
you  know.' 

'  You  are  living  in  Palestine  ?' 

'  In  Jerusalem.  I  came  here  as  a  missionary,  five 
years  ago.' 

'How  very  nice!'  I  said.  'And  you  can  go  with 
us?' 

19* 


222  DAISY. 

He  shook  my  hand  heartily,  which  he  had  not  yet  let 
go,  laughing,  and  asked  where  we  were  going  ? 

'I  want  to  see  the  Dead  Sea,  very  much,  Mr.  Din- 
widdie ;  and  papa  was  in  doubt ;  but  if  you  were  with  us 
there  would  be  no  more  difficulty.' 

*  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  be  with  you.  Do  you  know 
where  you  are  now  ?' 

'  I  know  a  little.     This  is  Elisha's  fountain,  isn't  it  ?' 

'  Yes ;  and  just  hereabouts  are  the  ruins  of  old  Jericho.' 

'  I  did  not  know.  I  wondered,  and  wanted  to  know. 
But,  Mr.  Dinwiddie,  have  you  got  a  tent  ?' 

1 1  never  travel  without  one.' 

'  Then  it  is  all  right,'  I  said ;   l  for  we  have  a  cook.' 

'  I  should  not  miss  that  functionary,'  he  said,  shaking 
his  head.  'I  am  accustomed  to  act  in  that  capacity  my 
self.  It  is  something  I  have  learned  since  I  came  from 
Virginia.' 

We  were  called  to  dinner  and  had  no  time  then  for 
anything  more.  Our  table  was  spread  in  front  of  the 
tents,  in  a  clear  spot  of  greensward ;  in  the  midst,  I 
thought,  of  all  possible  delights  that  could  be  clustered 
together — except  one.  The  breeze  was  a  balmy,  gentle 
evening  zephyr;  the  sunlight,  hidden  from  us  by  the 
Quarantania,  shone  on  the  opposite  mountains  of  Moab, 
bringing  out  colours  of  beauty;  and  glanced  from  the 
water  of  the  Dead  Sea,  and  brightened  the  hues  of  the 
green  thickets  on  the  plain.  Jericho  behind  us,  the  Jor 
dan  in  front  of  us,  the  confusions  of  the  world  we  live  in 
thrust  to  a  great  distance  out  of  the  way, — I  sat  down  to 
the  open-air  meal  with  a  profound  feeling  of  gratitude 
and  joy.  It  was  also  a  relief  to  me  to  have  Mr.  Din- 
widdie's  company  with  papa ;  he  knew  the  land  and  the 
people  and  the  ways  of  the  land,  and  could  give  such 
good  help  if  help  were  needed.  He  could  be  such  good 
society  too. 


OLD   BATTLEFIELDS.  223 

I  fancied  that  papa's  reception  of  Mr.  Dinwiddie  was 
rather  slack  in  its  evidence  of  pleasant  recollection  ;  but ' 
however,  every  shadow  of  stiffness  passed  away  from  his 
manner  before  dinner  was  over.  Mr.  Dinwiddie  made 
himself  very  acceptable;  and  there,  where  we  had  so 
much  to  talk  about,  talk  flowed  in  full  stream.  It  was 
arranged  that  the  new  member  of  our  party  should  be 
our  guest  and  our  travelling  companion  during  as  much 
of  our  journey  as  his  duties  allowed ;  and  I  went  to  sleep 
that  night  with  a  deep  and  full  sense  of  satisfaction. 

Papa  declared  himself  still  the  next  day  unable  for  a 
very  long  and  exciting  day's  work ;  so  it  was  decided  that 
we  should  put  off  till  the  morrow  our  ride  to  the  Jordan 
and  the  Dead  Sea,  and  Mr.  Dinwiddie  proposed  to  con 
duct  me  to  Mount  Quarantania  to  see  the  hermits'  caves 
which  are  remaining  there.  Of  course  they  remain ;  for 
the  walls  of  caves  do  not  crumble  away ;  however,  the 
staircases  and  rock  ways  which  led  to  the  upper  ones  have 
many  of  them  suffered  that  fate. 

We  had  a  delicious  walk.  First  along  the  foot  of  the 
mountain,  skirting  a  little  channel  of  running  water 
which  brings  the  outflow  of  another  fountain  to  enrich  a 
part  of  the  plain.  It  was  made  good  for  the  cultivation 
of  a  large  tract ;  although  very  wild  and  disorderly  culti 
vation.  As  we  went,  every  spot  within  sight  was  full  of 
interest;  rich  with  associations;  the  air  was  warm  but 
pleasant ;  the  warble  of  the  orange-winged  blackbird — I 
don't  know  if  I  ought  to  call  it  a  warble ;  it  was  a  very 
fine  and  strong  note,  or  whistle, — sounding  from  the  rocks 
as  we  went  by,  thrilled  me  with  a  wild  reminder  of  all 
that  had  once  been  busy  life  there,  where  now  the  black 
bird's  cry  sounded  alone.  The  ruins  of  what  had  been, — 
the  blank,  that  was  once  so  filled  up, — the  forlorn  re 
pose,  where  the  stir  of  the  ages  had  been  so  restlessly 
active.  I  heard  Mr.  Dinwiddie's  talk  as  we  went ;  he 


224  DAISY. 

was  telling  and  explaining  things  to  me.  I  heard,  but 
could  not  make  much  answer.  Thought  was  too  full. 

A  good  distance  from  home,  that  is,  from  the  tents,  we 
reached  the  source  of  all  that  fertilizing  water  the  chan 
nel  of  which  we  had  followed  up.  How  wild  the  source 
was  too !  No  Saracenic  arch  over  that ;  the  water  in  a 
full  flow  came  out  from  among  the  roots  of  a  great  tree — 
one  of  the  curious  thorny  dom  trees  that  grow  in  thickets 
over  the  plain.  I  believe  our  Arabs  called  them  dom ; 
Mr.  Dinwiddie  said  it  was  a  Zizyphus.  It  was  a  very  large 
tree  at  any  rate,  and  with  its  odd  thorny  branches  and 
bright  green  foliage  canopied  picturesquely  the  fine  spring 
beneath  it.  All  was  wild  and  waste.  The  Arabs  do  not 
even  root  out  the  dom  or  nubk  trees  from  the  spots  they 
irrigate  and  cultivate ;  but  the  little  channels  of  water 
flow  in  and  out  among  the  stems  and  roots  of  the  trees  as 
they  can.  Times  are  changed  on  Jericho's  plain. 

I  thought  so,  as  we  turned  up  the  slope  of  rock  rubbish 
which  leads  to  the  foot  of  the  cave  cliffs.  The  mountain 
here. is  a  sheer  face  of  rock;  and  the  caves,  natural  or 
artificial,  pierce  the  rock  in  tiers,  higher  and  lower.  The 
precipice  is  spotted  with  them.  The  lowest  ones  are 
used  now  by  the  Arabs  to  pen  their  sheep  and  quarter 
their  donkeys ;  Mr.  Dinwiddie  and  I  looked  into  a  good 
many  of  them ;  in  one  or  two  we  found  a  store  of  corn 
or  straw  laid  up.  Many  of  the  highest  caves  could  not  be 
got  at ;  the  paths  and  stairs  in  the  rock  which  used  to  lead 
to  them  are  washed  and  worn  away  ;  but  the  second  tier 
are  not  so  utterly  cut  off  from  human  feet.  By  a  way 
chiselled  in  the  rock,  with  good  nerves,  one  can  reach 
them.  My  nerves  were  good  enough,  and  I  followed 
Mr.  Dinwiddie  along  the  face  of  the  precipice  till  we 
reached  some  sets  of  caves  communicating  with  each 
other.  These  were  partly  natural,  partly  enlarged  by 
labour.  Places  were  cut  for  beds  and  for  cupboards; 


OLD  BATTLEFIELDS.  225 

there  was  provision  of  a  fine  water  tank,  to  which,  Mr. 
Dinwiddie  told  me,  there  were  stone  channels  leading 
from  a  source  some  hundreds  of  feet  distant ;  cistern  and 
tubes  both  carefully  plastered.  A  few  Abyssinian  Chris 
tians  come  here  every  spring  to  keep  Lent,  Mr.  Din 
widdie  said.  How  much  more  pains  they  take  than  we 
do,  I  thought. 

'Yes,'  said  Mr.  Dinwiddie,  when  I  said  my  thought 
aloud, — '  "  Skin  for  skin ;  all  that  a  man  hath  will  he 
give  for  his  life."  But  when  the  conscience  knows  that 
heaven  is  not  to  be  bought  that  way,  then  there  is  no 
other  motive  left  that  will  use  up  all  a  man's  energies  but 
the  love  of  Christ  constraining  him.' 

'  The  trouble  is,  Mr.  Dinwiddie,  that  there  is  so  little 
of  that.' 

'So  little!'  he  said, — 'even  in  those  of  us  who  love 
most.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  this  love  had  no  share 
in  determining  the  actions  of  those  who  used  to  live  here ; 
perhaps  they  thought  to  get  nearer  to  Christ  by  getting 
nearer  to  the  places  of  his  some  time  presence  and  work 
ing  in  human  flesh.' 

'  And  don't  you  think  it  does  help,  Mr.  Dinwiddie  ?' 
I  said. 

He  turned  on  me  a  very  deep  and  sweet  look,  that  was 
half  a  smile. 

'  No !'  he  answered.  '  The  Lord  may  use  it, — he  often 
does, — to  quicken  our  sense  of  realities  and  so  strengthen 
our  apprehension  of  spiritualities;  but  just  so  he  can  use 
other  things,  even  remote  distance  from  such  and  all  ma 
terial  helps.  Out  of  that  very  distance  he  can  make  a 
tie  to  draw  the  soul  to  himself.' 

'There  must  have  been  a  great  many  of  those  old 
Christians  living  here  once  ?'  I  said. 

'Yes,'  said  Mr.  Dinwiddie.  'On  this  face  of  the 
mountain  there  are  thirty  or  forty  caves — I  think  there 

P 


226 


DAISY. 


are  many  more  in  the  gorge  of  the  Kelt,  round  on  the 
south  face.  Do  you  see  that  round  hole  over  your  head  ?' 

We  were  standing  in  one  of  the  caverns.     I  looked  up. 

'  I  cannot  get  you  up  there,'  he  went  on, — '  but  I  have 
climbed  up  by  means  of  a  rope.  There  are  other  rooms 
there,  and  one  is  a  chapel — I  mean,  it  was  one, — with 
arches  cut  to  the  windows  and  doorways,  and  frescoed 
walls,  full  of  figures  of  saints.  Through  another  holo 
in  another  ceiling,  like  this,  I  got  up  into  still  a  third  set 
of  rooms,  like  the  ones  below.  Into  those  nobody  had 
come  for  many  a  year ;  the  dust  witnessed  it.  Back  of 
one  room,  the  chapel,  was  a  little  low  doorway  ;  very 
low.  I  crept  through — and  there  in  the  inner  place,  lay 
piled  the  skeletons  of  the  old  hermits ;  skulls  and  bones, 
just  as  they  had  been  laid  while  the  flesh  was  still  upon 
them  ;  the  dust  was  inches  deep.  A  hundred  feet  higher 
up  there  are  more  caverns.  No,  I  should  not  like  to  take 
you — though  the  Abyssinian  devotees  come  to  them  every 
spring.  Yet  higher  than  those,  far  up,  near  the  top  of 
the  mountain,  I  have  explored  others,  where  I  found  still 
more  burial  caves  like  the  one  just  here  above  us. 
Chapels  and  frescoes  were  up  there  too.' 

*  And  difficult  climbing,  Mr.  Dinwiddie.' 

1  Very  difficult.  Broken  stairs  and  dizzy  galleries,  and 
deep  precipices,  with  the  vultures  floating  in  air  down 
below  me.' 

'  What  a  place  for  men  to  live !' 

1  Fitter  for  the  doves  and  swallows  which  inhabit  the 
old  hermits'  houses  now.  Yet  not  a  bad  place  to  live 
either,  if  one  had  nothing  to  do  in  the  world.  Sit  down 
and  rest  and  let  us  look  at  it.' 

1  And  I  have  got  some  luncheon  for  you,  Mr.  Dinwid 
die.  I  should  have  missed  all  this  if  you  had  not  been 
with  me.  Papa  would  never  have  come  here.' 

There  were  many  places  in  front  of  the  cells  where 


OLD   BATTLEFIELDS.  227 

seats  had  been  cut  out  in  the  rock ;  and  in  one  of  these 
Mr.  Dinwiddie  and  I  sat  down,  to  eat  fruit  and  biscuit 
and  use  our  eyes ;  our  attendant  Arab  no  doubt  wonder 
ing  at  us  all  the  while.  The  landscape  in  view  was  ex 
ceedingly  fine.  We  had  the  plains  of  Jericho,  green  and 
lovely,  spread  out  before  us ;  we  could  see  the  north  end 
of  the  Dead  Sea.  and  the  mouth  of  the  Jordan  ;  and  the 
hills  of  Moab,  always  like  a  superb  wall  of  mountain 
rising  up  over  against  us. 

'  Do  you  know  where  you  are  ?'  said  Mr.  Dinwiddie. 

4  Partly/ 

'  The  site  of  old  Jericho  is  marked  by  the  heaps  and 
the  ruins  which  lie  between  us  and  our  camp/ 

'  Yes.    That  is  old  Jericho.' 

*  Over  against  us,  somewhere  among  those  Moab  hills, 
is  the  pass  by  which  the  hosts  of  the  "  sons  of  Israel" 
came  down,  with  their  flocks  and  herds,  to  the  rich  plains 
over  there, — the  plains  of  Moab.' 

'  And  opposite  us,  I  suppose,  somewhere  along  there  in 
front  of  old  Jericho,  is  the  place  where  the  waters  of  the 
river  failed  from  below  and  were  cut  off  from  above,  and 
the  great  space  was  laid  bare  for  the  armies  to  pass  over.' 

*  Just  over  there.     And  there  Elijah  and  Elisha  went 
over  dry  shod,  when  Elijah  smote  with  his  mantle  upon 
the  waters ;  and  there  by  the  same  way  Elisha  came  back 
alone,  after  he  had  seen  his  master  taken  from  him.' 

;  Those  were  grand  times !'  I  said,  with  a  half  breath. 
'They  were  rough  times.' 

*  Still,  they  were  grand  times.' 
'I  think,  these  are  grander.' 

'  But  Mr.  Dinwiddie,  such  things  are  not  done  now  as 
were  done  then.' 
'Why  not?' 

'  Why  how  can  you  ask  ?' 
'  How  can  you  answer  ?' 


228  DAISY. 

1  Why,  Mr.  Dinwiddie,  the  river  is  not  parted  now, 
this  river  nor  any  other,  for  the  Lord's  people  to  go  over 
without  trouble.' 

'  Are  you  sure  ?'  said  he,  with  the  deep  sweet  look  I 
had  noticed.  '  Do  they  never  come  now,  in  the  way  of 
their  duty,  to  an  impassable  barrier  of  danger  or  diffi 
culty,  through  which  the  same  hand  opens  their  path? 
Did  you  never  find  that  they  do,  in  your  own  experience?' 

A  little,  I  had ;  and  yet  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  very 
Jordan  of  difficulty  lay  before  me  now,  rolling  in  full 
power.  Mr.  Dinwiddie  waited  a  moment  and  went  on. 

'That  old  cry,  "  Where  is  the  Lord  God  of  Elijah?" 
— will  bring  down  his  hand,  now  as  then ;  mighty  to 
hold  back  worse  waves  than  those  of  the  "Descender." 
Aaron's  rod,  and  the  blast  of  the  priests'  trumpets,  were 
but  the  appeal  and  the  triumph  of  faith.  And  before 
that  appeal  stronger  walls  than  those  of  Jericho  fall 
down,  now  as  well  as  then/ 

1  Then  it  must  be  the  faith  that  is  wanting,'  I  said. 

'  Sometimes' — Mr.  Dinwiddie  answered ;  '  and  not  some 
times.  That  earnest  Sunday-school  teacher,  who  prayed 
that  the  Lord  would  give  him  at  least  one  soul  a  week 
out  of  his  Bible  class,  and  who  reported  at  the  end  of  the 
year,  fifty-two  brought  to  God, — what  do  you  think  of  his 
faith  ? — and  his  Jericho  ?' 

'Is  it  true?'  I  said. 

'  It  is  true.  What  are  the  walls  of  stone  and  mortar 
to  that?  We  wrestle  not  with  flesh  and  blood,  but 
against  principalities,  against  powers,  against  the  rulers 
of  the  darkness  of  this  world. — But  our  Captain  is 
strong^!.' 

I  think  we  were  both  silent  for  some  time ;  yet  there 
was  a  din  of  voices  in  my  ear.  So  it  seemed.  Silence 
was  literally  broken  only  by  the  note  of  a  bird  here  and 
there;  but  the  plain  before  we,  the  green  line  which 


OLD  BATTLEFIELDS.  229 

marked  the  course  of  the  Jordan,  the  Moab  mountains, 
the  ruins  at  my  feet,  the  caves  behind  me,  were  all  talk 
ing  to  me.  And  there  were  voices  of  my  own  past  and 
present,  still  other  voices,  blending  with  these.  I  sat 
very  still,  and  Mr.  Dinwiddie  sat  very  still;  until  he 
suddenly  turned  to  me  and  spoke. 

'  Will  nothing  but  a  miracle  do,  Miss  Daisy  ?' 

The  tone  was  so  gentle  and  so  quietly  blended  itself 
with  my  musings,  that  I  started  and  smiled. 

'  O  yes/  I  said  ; — '  I  do  not  suppose  I  want  a  miracle.' 

'  Can  a  friend's  counsel  be  of  any  use  ?' 

*  It  might — of  the  greatest/  I  answered ; — '  if  only  I 
could  tell  you  all  the  circumstances/ 

'  Before  we  go  to  that,  how  has  it  fared  with  my  little 
friend  of  old  time,  all  these  years  ?' 

1  How  has  it  fared  with  me  ?' — I  repeated  in  doubt. 

'  There  is  only  one  sort  of  welfare  I  know/  he  said. 
1  It  is  not  strength  to  the  body,  or  gold  to  the  purse.  I 
am  "  well"  only  when  God's  favour  is  shining  on  me  and 
I  am  strong  to  run  the  way  of  his  commandments.' 

'  I  am  not  strong/  I  said. 

'  You  know  I  do  not  mean  my  own  strength,  or  yours/ 
he  answered. 

'  I  have  never  forgotten  what  you  used  to  tell  me/  I 
said. 

'Good.  And  yet,  Miss  Daisy,  I  would  rather  you 
could  tell  me  you  had  forgotten  it ;  that  you  had  gone  on 
so  far  from  that  beginning  as  to  have  lost  it  out  of  view/ 

'  Ah,  but  I  have  not  had  so  many  friends  to  teach  me, 
and  help  me,  that  I  could  afford  to  forget  the  first  one/ 
I  said.  '  I  have  one  dear  old  friend  who  thinks  as  you 
do, — and  that  is  all ;  and  I  cannot  see  her  now.' 

'  "  If  any  man  lack  wisdom,  let  him  ask  of  God,  who 
giveth  to  all  men  liberally  and  upbraideth  not ;  and  it 
shall  be  given  him,"  '  Mr.  Dinwiddie  said. 
VOL.  ii.— 20 


230  DAISY. 

'  I  lack  wisdom,  very  much ;  but  it  does  not  seem  to 
come,  even  though  I  ask  for  it.  I  am  sometimes  in  a 
great  puzzle.' 

'  About  what  to  do  ?' 

'Yes.' 

'  You  can  always  find  out  the  first  step  to  be  taken. 
Jesus  will  be  followed  step  by  step.  He  will  not  shew 
you  but  one  step  at  a  time,  very  often.  But  take  that, 
holding  his  hand,  and  he  will  shew  you  the  next.' 

1  So  I  came  here,'  I  said. 

'  And  what  is  the  work  to  be  done  here  ?  on  yourself, 
or  on  somebody  else  ?' 

'  I  do  not  know,'  I  said.  '  I  had  not  thought  it  was 
either.  Perhaps  I  am  learning.' 

He  was  silent  then,  and  I  sat  thinking. 

'Mr.  Dinwiddie,'  I  said,  'maybe  you  can  help  me.' 

'  I  will  gladly,  if  I  can.' 

'  But  it  is  very  difficult  for  me  to  put  you  in  possession 
of  the  circumstances — or  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  cir 
cumstances.  I  do  not  know  that  I  can.  You  know  that 
papa  and  mamma  do  not  think  with  me  on  the  subject  of 
religion  ?' 

'Yes.' 

'  There  are  other  things  in  which  I  think  differently 
from  them — other  things  in  which  we  feel  apart;  and 
they  do  not  know  it.  Ought  I  to  let  them  know  it  ?' 

'  Your  question  is  as  enigmatical  as  an  ancient  oracle. 
I  must  have  a  little  more  light.  Do  these  differences 
of  feeling  or  opinion  touch  action? — either  yours  or 
theirs?' 

'Yes,— both.' 

'Then,  unless  your  minds  are  known  to  each  other, 
will  there  not  be  danger  of  mistaken  action,  on  the  one 
part  or  on  the  other?' 

'  Telling  them  would  not  prevent  that  danger,'  I  said. 


OLD    BATTLEFIELDS.  231 

1  They  would  disregard  your  views,  or  you  would  dis 
regard  theirs, — which  ?' 

'  I  must  not  disregard  theirs/  I  said  low. 

Mr.  Dinwiddie  was  silent  awhile.  I  had  a  sort  of 
cry  in  my  heart  for  the  old  dividing  of  the  waters. 

'Miss  Daisy,'  he  said,  'there  is  one  sure  rule.  Do 
right ;  and  let  consequences  break  us  to  pieces,  if  needs 
be.' 

'But,'  said  I  doubtfully,  'I  had  questioned  what  was 
right ;  at  least  I  had  not  been  certain  that  I  ought  to  do 
anything  just  now.' 

'  Of  course  I  am  speaking  in  the  dark,'  he  answered. 
'  But  you  can  judge  whether  this  matter  of  division  is 
something  that  in  your  father's  place  you  would  feel  you 
had  a  right  to  know.' 

I  mused  so  long  after  this  speech,  that  I  am  sure  Mr. 
Dinwiddie  must  have  felt  that  he  had  touched  my  diffi 
culty.  He  was  perfectly  silent.  At  last  I  rose  up  to  go 
home.  I  do  not  know  what  Mr.  Dinwiddie  saw  in  me, 
but  he  stopped  me  and  took  my  hand. 

'  Can't  you  trust  the  Lord  ?'  he  said. 

'  I  see  trouble  before  me,  whatever  I  do,'  I  said  with 
some  difficulty. 

'  Veiy  well,'  he  said ;  '  even  so,  trust  the  Lord.  The 
trouble  will  do  you  no  harm.' 

I  sat  down  for  a  moment  and  covered  my  face.  It 
might  do  me  no  harm ;  it  might  at  the  same  time  sepa 
rate  me  from  what  I  loved  best  in  the  world. 

'  Cannot  you  trust  ?'  he  repeated.  *  "  He  that  putteth 
his  trust  in  the  Lord  shall  be  made  fat."  ; 

*  You  know,'  I  said  getting  up,  '  one  cannot  help  being 
weak.' 

'  Will  you  excuse  me  ? — That  is  precisely  what  we  can 
help.  We  cannot  help  being  ignorant  sometimes, — • 
foolish  sometimes, — short-sighted.  But  weak  we  need 


232 

not  be;  for  "in  the  Lord  Jehovah  is  everlasting 
strength ;"  and  "  he  giveth  power  to  the  faint."  ' 

'But  there  is  no  perfection,  Mr.  Dinwiddie.' 

'  Not  if  by  perfection  you  mean,  standing  alone.  But 
if  the  power  that  holds  us  up  is  perfect, — what  should 
hinder  our  having  a  fulness  of  that?  "If  ye  shall  ask 
anything  in  my  name,  I  will  do  it."  Isn't  that  promise 
good  for  all  we  want  to  ask  ?' 

I  sat  down  again  to  think.  Mr.  Dinwiddie  quietly 
took  his  place  by  my  side ;  and  we  were  still  for  a  good 
while.  The  plains  of  Jericho  and  the  Jordan  and  the 
Moab  mountains  and  the  Quarantania,  all  seemed  to 
have  new  voices  for  me  now ;  voices  full  of  balm ;  mes 
sages  of  soft  healing.  I  do  think  the  messages  God  sends 
to  us  by  natural  things  are  some  of  the  sweetest  and 
mightiest  and  best  understood  of  all.  They  come  home. 

'  Do  you  think,'  I  asked  after  a  long  silence,  '  that  this 
mountain  was  really  the  scene  of  the  Temptation  ?' 

'  Why  should  we  think  so  ?    No,  I  do  not  think  it.' 

'  But  the  road  from  Jericho  to  Jerusalem — there  is  no 
doubt  of  that?' 

'No  doubt  at  all.  We  are  often  sure  of  the  roads 
here,  when  wre  are  sure  of  little  else.' 

There  was  a  pause ;  and  then  Mr.  Dinwiddie  broke  it. 

'  You  left  things  in  confusion  at  home.  How  do  you 
feel  about  that  ?' 

'  At  home  in  America  ?'  I  said.  '  I  do  not  feel  about 
it  as  my  parents  do.' 

'  You  side  with  the  North  !' 

'  I  have  lived  there  so  much.  I  know  the  view  taken 
there ;  and  it  seems  to  me  the  right  one.  And  I  have 
lived  at  the  South  too ;  and  I  do  not  like  the  view  held 
there, — nor  the  practice  followed.' 

'  There  are  some  things  I  can  fancy  you  would  not  like,' 
he  said  musingly.  '  I  have  not  known  what  to  think.  It 


OLD   BATTLEFIELDS.  233 

seems  to  me  they  have  made  a  false  move.     But  it  seems 
to  me  they  must  succeed.' 

'I  don't  know,'  I  said.    ' Perhaps/ 

He  looked  at  me  a  little  hard,  and  then  we  left  the 
hermits'  caves  and  went  down  the  plain  to  our  encamp 
ment. 
20* 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

THE     FORLORN     HOPE. 

THE  spot  where  our  tents  were  pitched  commands  a 
view,  I  think  one  of  the  loveliest  in  the  world.  Perhaps 
with  me  association  has  something  to  do  with  the  feeling. 
That  broad  sweep  of  the  plains  of  Jericho,  bright  with 
their  groves  of  Zizyphus  trees ;  the  lake  waters  coming 
in  at  the  south  ;  the  great  line  of  the  Moab  horizon,  and 
the  heights  of  the  western  shore ;  and  then  the  constant 
changes  which  the  light  makes  in  revealing  all  these ;  I 
found  it  a  study  of  beauty,  from  the  morning  till  the 
night.  From  the  time  when  the  sun  rose  over  the  Moab 
mountains  and  brightened  our  dom  trees  and  kissed 
our  spring,  to  the  evening  when  the  shadow  of  Qua- 
rantania  stretched  over  all  our  neighbourhood,  as  it 
stretched  over  Jericho  of  old,  and  the  distant  hills 
and  waters  and  thickets  glowed  in  colours  and  lights  of 
their  own. 

The  next  morning  after  my  walk  I  was  up  early,  and 
going  a  little  way  from  my  tent  door,  I  sat  down  to  enjoy 
it.  The  servants  were  but  just  stirring ;  my  father  and 
Mr.  Dinwiddie  safe  within  their  canvas  curtains.  It  was 
very  nice  to  be  alone,  for  I  wanted  to  think.  The  air 
was  deliciously  balmy  and  soft ;  another  fair  day  had 
risen  upon  us  in  that  region  of  tropical  summer;  the 
breath  of  the  air  was  peace.  Or  was  it  the  speech  of  the 
past  ?  It  is  difficult  to  disentangle  things  sometimes.  I 
had  troublesome  matters  to  think  about,  yet  somehow  I 
234 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE.  235 

was  not  troubled.  I  did  not  lay  hold  of  trouble,  all  the 
while  I  was  in  Palestine.  Mr.  Dinwiddie's  words  had 
revealed  to  me  that  it  might  be  my  duty  to  tell  my  father 
all  that  was  in  my  heart.  Suspicions  of  the  fact,  only, 
had  crossed  my  thought  before;  but  "as  iron  sharpeneth 
iron,  so  a  man  sharpeneth  the  countenance  of  his  friend.'' 
I  saw  more  clearly.  And  the  longer  I  sat  there  on  my 
stone  looking  over  to  the  line  of  the  Jordan  and  to  the 
hills  through  which  the  armies  of  Israel  had  once  come 
down  to  cross  it,  the  clearer  it  grew  to  my  mind,  that  the 
difficulty  before  me  was  one  to  be  faced,  not  evaded.  I 
saw  that  papa  had  a  right  to  know  my  affairs,  and  that  he 
would  think  it  became  me  as  a  Christian  not  to  make  a 
mystery  of  them.  I  saw  I  must  tell  papa  about  myself. 
And  yet,  it  did  not  appal  me,  as  the  idea  had  often  ap 
palled  me.  I  was  hardly  afraid.  At  any  rate,  there  be 
fore  rne  the  hosts  of  the  Israelites  had  passed  over  dry 
shod;  though  the  river- was  swift  and  strong;  and  the 
appeal  of  Elisha,— "  Where  is  the  Lord  God  of  Elijah?" 
— came  home  to  my  ear  like  a  blast  of  the  priests'  silver 
trumpets.  I  felt  two  hands  on  my  shoulders. 

'  Studying  it  all,  Daisy  ?' 

'  Papa,  I  am  never  tired  of  studying/ 

'  This  is  a  wonderful  place.' 

'  Papa,  you  know  little  about  it  yet.  Old  Jericho  was 
up  there.' 

*  You  speak  as  if  I  had  gone  to  school  in  "  old  Jeri 
cho,"  '  said  my  father  laughing.  '  I  have  the  vaguest 
idea,  Daisy,  that  such  a  city  existed.  That  is  all.' 

'  Sit  down,  papa,  while  breakfast  is  getting  ready,  and 
let  me  mend  your  knowledge.' 

So  we  read  the  story  there,  on  the  stone  by  the  spring. 
Mr.  Dinwiddie  joined  us ;  and  it  was  presently  decided 
that  we  should  spend  the  morning  in  examining  the 
ground  in  our  neighbourhood  and  the  old  sites  of  what 


236  DAISY. 

had  passed  away.     So  after  breakfast  we  sat  out  upon  a 
walk  over  the  territory  of  old  Jericho. 

'  But  it  is  strange,'  said  papa,  '  if  the  city  was  here, 
that  there  are  no  architectural  remains  to  testify  as  much/ 

*  We  rarely  find  them,  sir,  but  in  connection  with  Ko- 
man  or  Saracenic  work.     Shapeless  mounds,  and  broken 
pottery,  as  you  have  it  here,  are  all  that  generally  mark 
our  Palestine  ruins/ 

'  But  Herod  ?'  said  papa.     '  He  was  a  builder.' 

*  Herod's  Jericho  was  a  mile  and  a  half  away,  to  the 
east.     And  moreover,  if  anything  had  been  remaining 
here  that  could  be  made  of  use,  the  Saracens  or  Crusaders 
would  have  pulled  it  to  pieces  to  help  make  their  sugar 
mills  up  yonder,  or  their  aqueducts.' 

'  There  is  no  sugar  cane  here  now  ?' 

*  Not  a  trace  of  it.     Nor  a  palm  tree ;  though  Jericho 
was  a  city  of  palms ;  nor  a  root  of  the  balsam,  though 
great  gain  was  derived  to  Judea  in  ancient  times  from 
the  balsam  gardens  here.' 

We  mounted  our  horses  and  rode  down  to  the  site  of 
Herod's  Jericho,  on  the  banks  of  the  little  stream  that 
issues  from  the  gorge  of  the  Wady  Kelt.  How  lovely, 
and  how  desolate,  it  was.  The  stream  overhung  with 
trees  and  bordered  with  oleanders  and  shrubs  of  which  I 
have  forgotten  the  names,  and  crossed  by  old  arches  still ; 
and  around,  the  desolate  tokens  of  what  once  was. 
Foundation  lines,  and  ruined  aqueducts.  Mr.  Dinwid- 
die  made  us  remark  the  pavement  of  the  road  leading  up 
to  the  Kelt,  the  old  road  to  Jerusalem,  the  road  by 
which  Jesus  went  when  the  blind  men  called  him,  and 
over  which,  somewhere  on  its  way,  stretched  the  sycamore 
tree  into  which  Zaccheus  climbed.  Ah  how  barren  and 
empty  the  way  looked  now ! — with  him  no  longer  here. 
For  a  moment,  so  looked  my  own  path  before  me, — the 
dusty,  hot  road ;  the  desolate  pass ;  the  barren  mountain 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE.  237 

top.  It  was  only  a  freak  of  fancy ;  I  do  not  know  what 
brought  it.  I  had  not  felt  so  a  moment  before,  and  I  did 
not  a  moment  after. 

*  Where  his  feet  lead  now,  the  green  pastures  are  not 
wanting, — '  Mr.  Dinwiddie  said ;  I  suppose  reading  my 
look. 

'Never,  Mr.  Dinwiddie?' 

4  Never!' 

'But  it  seems,  often,  to  people,  that  they  are  wanting.' 

'  Their  eyes  are  so  blinded  by  tears  that  they  cannot 
see  them,  sometimes.  Even  then,  they  can  lie  down  and 
feel  them, — feel  that  they  are  in  them.' 

1  Are  there  any  sycamore  trees  here  now  ?'  my  father 
asked. 

1  Two  or  three  poor  old  specimens ;  just  enough  to 
shew  for  the  story.  Those  sycamore  figs  belong  to  the 
low  and  warm  situations;  this  is  the  proper  place  for 
them.' 

Papa  felt  so  well  that  we  determined  to  push  on  to  the 
Jordan.  It  was  a  hot,  long  ride,  over  a  shadeless  and 
barren  plain ;  and  when  we  came  to  the  river  papa  de 
clared  himself  very  much  disappointed.  But  I  was  not. 
Narrow  and  muddy  as  the  stream  was,  it  was  also  pow 
erful  in  its  rapid  flood ;  no  one  could  venture  to  bathe  in 
it.  The  river  was  much  swollen  and  had  been  yet  more 
so ;  the  tracks  of  wild  animals  which  the  floods  had  dis 
turbed  were  everywhere  to  be  seen.  Papa  and  Mr.  Din 
widdie  reasoned  and  argued,  while  I  sat  and  meditated ; 
in  a  deep  delight  that  I  should  see  the  Jordan  at  all. 
We  took  a  long  rest  there,  on  its  banks.  The  jungle  was 
a  delicious  study  to  me,  and  when  the  deep  talk  of  the 
gentlemen  subsided  enough  to  give  me  a  chance,  I  got 
Mr.  Dinwiddie  to  enlighten  me  as  to  the  names  and 
qualities  of  the  various  trees  and  plants.  They  were  of 
fine  luxuriant  growth.  Poplars  and  sycamores  and  other 


238  DAISY. 

trees,  willows,  I  think,  and  exquisite  tamarisks  in  blos 
som  ;  and  what  I  specially  admired,  the  canes.  I  un 
derstood  then  how  people  might  go  into  the  plain  to  see 
*'a  reed  shaken  with  the  wind."  Growing  twelve  to 
fifteen  feet  high,  with  graceful  tufts  of  feathery  bloom 
which  they  bow  and  sway  to  the  breeze  in  a  manner 
lovely  to  see. 

Another  day  we  rode  down  to  the  shore  of  the  Dead 
Sea ;  papa  being  none  the  worse  for  his  Jordan  excur 
sion.  Then  the  rain  visited  us,  and  for  two  or  three  days 
we  were  kept  in  our  tents.  With  some  difficulty  I  then 
persuaded  papa  to  go  further  south,  to  the  shore  of  the 
Dead  Sea,  to  some  pleasant  camping  ground  by  one  of  its 
western  springs ;  there  rain  falls  almost  never.  So,  first 
at  Ain  Feshkah  and  then  at  Ain  Jidi,  we  spent  another 
couple  of  weeks ;  without  Mr.  Dinwiddie  it  would  have 
been  impossible,  but  his  society  kept  papa  from  wearying 
and  made  everything  as  enjoyable  as  could  be  to  both  of 
us.  It  was  the  middle  of  February  when  we  returned  to 
Jerusalem. 

The  rainy  season  was  not  of  course  at  an  end  yet ;  but 
a  change  of  beauty  had  come  over  the  land.  We  found 
fruit  trees  in  blossom,  almond  and  peach ;  and  apricots 
just  ready  to  bloom.  Corn  up  and  green ;  and  flowers 
coming  and  come.  I  had  my  own  plans,  made  up  from 
the  experience  and  counsels  of  my  English  friends ;  but 
papa  wanted  to  see  Jerusalem,  and  I  waited.  Of  course 
I  wanted  to  see  Jerusalem  too ;  and  here  again  Mr.  Din 
widdie  was  our  excellent  friend  and  guide  and  instructor. 
Papa  was  quite  in  earnest  now  ;  and  went  about  the  city 
examining  walls  and  churches  and  rock-tombs  and  all 
the  environs,  with  a  diligent  intentness  almost  equal  to 
mine ;  and  he  and  Mr.  Dinwiddie  had  endless  talks  and 
discussions,  while  I  mused.  The  words,  '  Constantine/ 
'  Byzantine/  '  Crusaders,'  '  Helena,'  '  Saracenic/  '  Herod/ 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE.  239 

'Josephus;'  with  modern  names  almost  as  well  known; 
echoed  and  re-echoed  in  my  ears. 

'Daisy!'  said  papa  suddenly  in  one  of  these  talks,— 
'  Daisy  !  you  are  not  interested  in  this/ 

'  Papa,  it  is  so  uncertain.' 

Mr.  Dinwiddie  laughed. 

'But  the  question,  child;  don't  you  care  about  the 
question  ?  how  is  it  ever  to  be  made  certain  ?  I  thought 
this  question  would  engage  all  your  attention.' 

'  How  can  it  ever  be  made  certain,  papa  ?  After  those 
hundred  and  fifty  years  when  there  were  no  Jews  allowed 
here,  who  was  to  remember  the  spot  of  the  Sepulchre  ? 
Few  but  Christians  knew  it,  in  the  first  place.' 

'0,  you  have  thought  about  it!'  said  papa.  'But  are 
you  not  interested  in  a  probable  site,  Daisy  ?' 

'No,  papa.' 

'  All  these  old  churches  and  relics  then  do  not  concern 
you?' 

'Papa,  I  only  go  to  see  them  for  your  sake.' 

'Well,'  said  papa,  'now  I  will  go  to  the  Mount  of 
Olives  for  your  sake.' 

That  was  my  plan  ;  following  the  advice  of  the  English 
party,  who  said  they  had  enjoyed  it.  We  hired  for  a 
time  a  little  stone  dwelling  on  the  Mount  of  Olives,  from 
which  we  had  a  fine  view  of  the  city ;  and  to  this  new 
home  papa  and  I  moved,  and  took  up  our  quarters  in  it. 
Of  all  my  days  in  the  Holy  Land,  excepting  perhaps  the 
time  spent  at  Jericho  and  Engedi,  these  days  were  the 
best.  They  are  like  a  jewel  of  treasure  in  my  memory. 

The  little  dwelling  to  which  we  had  come  was  rougher 
in  accommodation  than  our  tents;  but  the  season  was 
still  early,  and  it  gave  better  shelter  to  papa.  It  was  a 
rude  stone  house,  with  a  few  small  rooms  at  our  service ; 
which  I  soon  made  comfortable  with  carpets  and  cushions. 
The  flat  roof  above  gave  us  a  delightful  view  of  the  coun- 


240  DAISY. 

try  and  abundant  chance  to  examine  and  watch  all  its 
points  and  aspects.  I  spent  the  hours  up  here  or  at  the 
window  of  our  little  sitting-room ;  using  my  eyes  all  the 
time,  to  take  in  and  feast  upon  what  was  before  them. 
Only  when  papa  would  go  out  with  me,  I  left  my  post ;  to 
take  up  the  survey  from  some  new  point  of  view.  I  had  a 
great  deal  to  think  of,  those  days ;  a  certain  crisis  in  my 
life  had  come,  or  was  coming  ;  I  was  facing  it  and  getting 
ready  for  it ;  and  thinking  and  looking  seemed  to  help 
and  stimulate  each  other.  It  was  wonderful  to  watch 
the  lights  change  on  Jerusalem ;  from  the  first  sunbeam 
that  came  over  the  hills  of  Moab  and  touched  the  city, 
to  the  full  glare  of  the  midday,  and  then  the  sunset 
colours  on  land  and  rock  and  building,  transforming  the 
dull  greys  and  whites  with  a  flush  of  rosy  beauty  and 
purple  splendour.  The  tints  that  hovered  then  upon  the 
red  hills  of  Moab  were  never  to  be  forgotten.  I  watched 
it,  this  change  of  light  and  shade  and  colour,  from  day  to 
day.  I  learned  to  know  Jerusalem  and  her  surrounding 
hills  and  her  enclosing  valleys ;  and  the  barrier  wall  of 
Moab  became  a  familiar  line  to  me.  All  this  while,  as 
I  said,  I  had  a  great  deal  to  think  of,  and  was  think 
ing.  Past,  present  and  future  chased  each  other  in  and 
out  of  my  head ;  or  rather,  it  seems  to  me,  dwelt  there 
together. 

'Daisy!' — papa  called  to  me  when  I  was  on  the  roof 
one  day.  I  ran  down. 

'  What  are  you  doing  up  there  ?' 

*  I  was  looking,  papa.     I  was  studying  topography.' 

*  Let  us  go  out  and  study  it  a  little  by  actual  survey. 
I  think  a  walk  would  do  me  good.' 

We  went  down  first  to  the  valley  of  the  Kedron,  and 
wandered  about  there;  sometimes  sitting  down  under 
the  shade  of  the  olive  trees  to  rest;  speculating  upon 
localities,  recalling  scenes  of  history ;  wondering  at  the 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE.  '241 

path  which  descends  into  the  valley  from  St.  Stephen's 
gate  and  goes  on  over  the  Mount  of  Olives  to  Bethany. 
Above  all  things,  that  path  held  my  eyes.  No  doubt 
the  real  path  that  was  travelled  eighteen  centuries  ago 
lay  deep  beneath  many  feet  of  piled-up  rubbish ;  but  the 
rubbish  itself  told  a  tale ;  and  the  path  was  there.  After 
a  long  stay  in  the  valley,  we  mounted  the  hill  again, 
where  our  temporary  home  was ;  and  passing  that,  went 
on  to  the  height  of  the  hill.  There  we  sat  down.  The 
westering  sun  was  casting  lines  of  light  all  over  the 
landscape,  which  would  be  soon  floods  of  colour.  Papa 
and  I  sat  down  to  look  and  wait. 

'  It  certainly  is  worth  coming  for/  said  papa.  '  Our 
journey  realizes  more  than  all  I  had  hoped  from  it, 
Daisy.' 

'  I  am  so  glad,  papa !' 

'  But  you,  Daisy,  how  is  it  with  you  ?  You  seem  to 
me  a  little,  and  not  a  little,  distraite.' 

'I  have  so  much  to  think  of,  papa.' 

'  More  than  I  have?' 

*  Why  yes,  papa,'  I  said  half  laughing.     *I  think  so.' 

'  You  must  have  fields  of  speculation  unknown  to  me, 
Daisy/ 

'  Yes,  papa.  Some  time  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
them.' 

'  Isn't  now  a  good  time  ?'  said  papa  carelessly. 

I  was  silent  a  while,  thinking  how  to  begin.  It  was  a 
good  time,  I  knew,  and  I  dared  not  let  it  pass.  I  had 
been  waiting  till  Mr.  Dinwiddie  should  have  left  us  and 
papa  and  I  be  quite  alone ;  and  he  was  to  join  us  again 
as  soon  as  we  started  on  our  northward  journey.  Now 
was  my  best  opportunity.  All  the  more,  for. knowing 
that,  my  heart  beat. 

'  Papa,'  I  began,  '  may  I  ask  you-  a  few  questions,  the 
better  to  come  at  what  I  want  ?' 
VOL.  ii.— 21  Q 


242  DAISY. 

'  Certainly.  Your  questions,  Daisy,  I  have  always 
found  stimulating.' 

'  Then  first,  what  is  it  you  think  of  most,  in  looking 
over  from  this  place  to  Jerusalem  ?' 

'  Of  course/  said  papa  rousing  himself,  '  the  prominent 
thought  must  be  the  wonderful  scene  that  was  acted  there 
eighteen  hundred  years  ago ;  not  the  course  of  history 
before  or  after.  Is  that  what  you  mean  ?' 

'I  mean  that,  papa.  I  mean  the  death  of  Christ. 
Papa,  what  was  that  for  T 

'  Why  as  I  understand  it,  Daisy,  it  was  a  satisfaction 
to  the  justice  of  God  for  the  sins  of  the  world.  Are 
you  going  to  put  me  through  a  course  of  theology, 
Daisy?' 

'  No,  papa.  But  do  you  think  it  was  for  all  the  world, 
or  only  for  a  part  of  them  ?' 

'For  all,  of  course.  The  Bible  words  I  take  to  be 
quite  clear  on  that  point,  even  if  it  were  possible  that  it 
should  have  been  otherwise.' 

'  Then  it  was  for  you  and  me,  papa  ?' 

'Yes.' 

'  And  for  those  ignorant  Moslems  that  live  in  the  city 
now?' 

'  Yes,  of  course  it  was ;  though  I  think  they  will  not 
have  much  good  of  it,  Daisy.' 

'Never  mind  that,  papa.  Then  it  was  for  my  old 
June,  and  for  Maria  and  Darry  and  Pete  and  Margaret, 
and  all  the  rest  of  our  people  at  Magnolia  ?' 

'  Yes,'  said  papa,  rousing  up  a  little.  I  did  not  look 
at  him. 

'  Papa,  don't  you  think  the  Lord  Jesus  loves  the  peo 
ple  for  whom  he  died  ?' 

'  Certainly.  It  is  inconceivable  that  he  should  have 
died  for  them  if  he  did  not  love  them.  Though  that  is 
also  a  great  mystery  to  me,  Daisy/ 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE.  243 

'  Papa,  don't  you  think  that,  having  died  for  them,  he 
holds  them  precious  ?' 

*  I  suppose  so/  said  papa  slowly. 

'  Every  one  ?' 

'Yes.' 

'  Do  you  think  he  loves  one  man  less  than  another  be 
cause  his  skin  is  darker  ?' 

'Certainly  not,  Daisy.' 

'Then  papa — should  we?' 

'  I  do  not  know  that  we  do,'  papa  said  after  a  pause. 

'Papa,  think.  What  would  you  say  to  our,  or  any 
body's,  holding  white  men  in  slavery — making  them 
work  without  wages — and  forcing  them  to  obey  under  the 
lash?' 

'They  are  an  inferior  race,  Daisy,'  papa  answered 
again  after  a  pause.  His  voice  shewed  he  did  not  en 
joy  the  conversation;  but  it  was  needful  for  me  to  go 
on. 

'  Papa,  they  have  been  kept  down,  But  suppose  they 
were  inferior, — since  Christ  died  for  them,  does  he  not 
love  them  ?' 

'  I  have  no  doubt  of  it.' 

'  Then  papa,  what  will  he  say  to  us,  for  keeping  those 
whom  he  loves  and  died  for,  at  arms'  length  or  under  our 
feet  ?  and  what  will  he  say  to  us  for  keeping  them  out  of 
the  good  he  died  to  give  them  ?' 

'  We  do  not,  Daisy !  They  have  their  religious  privi 
leges.' 

'  Papa,  I  have  lived  among  them  as  you  never  did. 
They  may  not  meet  together  to  pray,  on  pain  of  the  lash. 
They  cannot  have  Bibles,  for  they  are  not  allowed  to  read. 
They  have  no  family  life ;  for  husbands  and  wives  and 
parents  and  children  are  parted  and  torn  from  each  other 
at  the  will  or  for  the  interest  of  their  owners.  They  live 
like  the  animals.' 


244  DAISY. 

•'Not  on  my  estates!'  said  papa  rousing  himself  again. 
*  There  is  no  selling  and  buying  of  the  people  there.' 

'  Pete's  wife  was  forcibly  taken  from  him,  papa,  and 
then  sent  South.' 

'  By  whom?' 

'By  Edwards.  And  the  rest  of  the  hands  were  in 
mortal  fear  of  him ;  utterly  cowed.  They  dared  not  move 
without  his  pleasure.' 

'Abuses,'  papa  muttered; — 'nothing  to  do  with  the 
system.' 

'  What  must  the  system  be  where  such  things  are  pos 
sible?  where  one  such  thing  is  possible?  And  oh,  papa, 
they  suffer !  there  is  no  such  thing  as  real  comfort  of  life ; 
there  is  no  scope  or  liberty  for  the  smallest  upward  ten 
dency.  Nothing  is  their  own,  not  their  own  time ;  they 
have  no  chance  to  be  anything  but  inferior.' 

'  They  have  all  the  essentials  of  comfortable  living,  and 
they  are  comfortable,'  said  my  father. 

'Papa,  they  do  not  think  so.' 

' Few  people  do  think  so,'  said  papa.  'It  is  a  vice  of 
humanity.' 

I  was  silent  a  little  bit,  and  then  I  ventured  to  say, 

'  Papa,  the  Lord  Jesus  loved  them  well  enough  to  die 
for  them.' 

'Well,'  said  papa,  rather  growlingly,  'what  then?' 

'  I  am  thinking,  what  will  he  say  to  us  for  handling 
them  so.' 

'  What  would  you  do  for  them,  Daisy  ?' 

'  All  I  could,  papa,'  I  said  softly.  . 

'  How  much  could  you,  do  you  suppose  ?' 

'  Papa,  I  would  not  stop  as  long  as  there  was  anything 
more  to  be  done.' 

'  I  suppose  you  would  begin  by  setting  them  all 
free?' 

*  Wouldn't  you  wish  it,  papa,  for  yourself  and  me,  if 


THE  FORLORN   HOPE.  245 

we  were  two  of  them  ? — and  for  mamma  and  Ransom,  if 
they  were  two  more  ?' 

'  You  are  mistaken  in  thinking  it  is  a  parallel  case. 
They  do  not  wish  for  liberty  as  we  should.' 

*  Then  it  only  shews  how  much  harm  the  want  of 
liberty  has  done  them  already.  But  they  wish  for  it 
quite  enough,  papa ;  quite  enough.  It  breaks  my  heart 
to  think  how  much  they  do  wish  for  it.' 

'My  child,  you  do  not  know  what  you  are  talking 
about!'  papa  answered;  half  worried,  I  thought,  and 
half  impatient.  '  In  the  first  place,  they  would  not  be 
better  off  if  they  were  set  free ;  though  you  think  they 
would;  and  in  the  second  place,  do  you  know  how  it 
would  affect  our  own  condition  ?' 

'  Papa,'  I  said  low, — '  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
question.  I  do  not  care.' 

'  You  would  care.' 

{I  care  for  this  other  more,  papa.' 

'Daisy,  understand.  Instead  of  being  well  off,  you 
would  be  poor ;  you  would  be  poor.  The  Southern  estates 
would  be  worth  nothing  without  hands  to  cultivate  them ; 
and  my  Northern  estates  will  go  to  your  brother.' 

'  I  should  never  be  rich  in  the  way  you  think,  papa.' 

'How  so?' 

'I  would  never  be  rich  in  that  way.' 

'  What  would  you  do  ?' 

'  I  would  be  poor.' 

'It  is  not  so  easy  to  do  as  to  talk  about,'  said  my 
father.  '  At  the  present  time,  Daisy, — I  suppose,  if  you 
had  your  will,  you  would  set  at  liberty  at  once  all  the 
people  on  the  Magnolia  plantations  ?' 

'  Indeed  I  would,  papa.' 

'  Then  we  should  be  reduced  to  a  present  nothing.  The 
Melbourne  property  brings  in  very  little,  nothing,  in  fact, 
without  a  master  on  the  spot  to  manage  it.  I  dare  say 
21* 


246  DAISY. 

some  trifling  rent  might  be  obtained  for  it ;  and  the  sale 
of  Magnolia  and  its  corresponding  estates  would  fetch 
something  if  the  times  admitted  of  sale.  You  know  it  is 
impossible  now.  We  should  have  scarce  anything  to  live 
upon,  my  child,  to  satisfy  your  philanthropy.' 

'  Papa,  there  was  a  poor  woman  once,  who  was  reduced 
to  a  handful  of  meal  and  a  little  oil  as  her  whole  house 
hold  store.  Yet  at  the  command  of  the  prophet  of  the 
Lord,  she  took  some  of  it  to  make  bread  for  him,  before 
she  fed  herself  and  her  child — both  of  them  starving. 
And  the  Lord  never  let  her  want  either  meal  or  oil  all 
the  time  the  famine  lasted.' 

'  Miracles  do  not  come  for  people's  help,  now-a-days, 
Daisy.' 

'Papa,  yes!  God's  ways  may  change,  his  ways  of 
doing  the  same  thing;  but  he  does  not  change.  He 
takes  care  of  his  people  now  without  miracles,  all  the 
same.' 

'  "  All  the  same"  ! '  repeated  papa.  '  That  is  an  Eng 
lish  expression,  that  you  have  caught  from  your  friends/ 

We  were  both  silent  for  a  while. 

'  Daisy,  my  child,  your  views  of  all  these  things  will 
alter  by  and  by.  You  are  young,  and  have  slight  ex 
perience  of  the  things  of  life.  By  and  by,  you  will  find 
it  a  much  more  serious  thing  than  you  imagine  to  be 
without  wealth.  You  would  find  a  great  difference  be 
tween  the  heiress  and  the  penniless  girl ;  a  difference  you 
would  not  like.' 

1  Papa,'  I  said  slowly, — '  I  hope  you  will  not  be  dis 
pleased  or  hurt, — but  I  want  it  to  be  known;  and  I  wanted 
you  should  know,  that  I  never  shall  be  an  heiress.  I 
never  will  be  rich  in  that  way.  I  will  take  what  God 
gives  me.' 

'First  throwing  away  what  he  has  given  you/  said 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE.  247 

*  I  do  not  think  lie  has  given  it,  papa/ 

'  What  then  ?  have  we  stolen  it  ?' 

'  Not  we ;  but  those  who  have  been  before  us,  papa ; 
they  stole  it.  All  we  are  doing,  is  keeping  that  which  is 
not  ours.' 

'Enough  too,  I  should  think!'  said  papa.  'You  will 
alter  your  mind,  Daisy,  about  all  this,  if  you  wait  a  while. 
What  do  you  think  your  mother  would  say  to  it?' 

'I  know,  papa,'  I  said  softly.  'But  I  cannot  help 
thinking  of  what  will  be  said  somewhere  else.  I  would 
like  that  you  and  I,  and  she  too,  might  have  that  "  Well 
done" — which  the  Lord  Jesus  will  give  to  some.  And 
when  they  enter  into  the  joy  of  their  Lord,  will  they 
care  what  his  service  has  cost  them  ?' 

My  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  I  could  scarcely  speak ; 
for  I  felt  that  I  had  gained  very  little  ground,  or  better 
no  ground  at  all.  What  indeed  could  I  have  expected 
to  gain  ?  Papa  sat  still,  and  I  looked  over  at  Jerusalem, 
where  the  westing  sun  was  making  a  bath  of  sunbeams 
for  the  old  domes  and  walls.  A  sort  of  promise  of  glory, 
which  yet  touched  me  exceedingly  from  its  contrast  with 
present  condition.  Even  so  of  other  things,  and  other 
places  besides  Jerusalem.  But  Melbourne  seemed  to  be 
in  shadow.  And  Magnolia  ? — 

I  wondered  what  papa  would  say  next,  or  whether  our 
talk  had  come  to  a  dead-lock  then  and  there.  I  had  a 
great  deal  more  myself  to  say ;  but  the  present  opportu 
nity  seemed  to.be  questionable.  And  then  it  was  gone; 
for  Mr.  Dinwiddie  mounted  the  hill  and  came  to  take  a 
seat  beside  us. 

'  Any  news,  Mr.  Dinwiddie  ?'  was  papa's  question,  as 
usual. 

'From  America.' 

'What  sort  of  news?' 

'Confused  sort — as  the  custom  is.     Skirmishes  which 


248  DAISY. 

amount  to  nothing,  and  tell  nothing.  However,  there  is 
a  little  more  this  time.  Fort  Henry  has  been  taken,  on 
the  Tennessee  river,  by  Commander  Foote  and  his  gun 
boats/ 

'  Successes  cannot  always  be  on  one  side,  of  course,'  re 
marked  my  father. 

'  Koanoke  Island  has  been  taken,  by  the  sea  and  land 
forces  under  Burnside  and  Goldsborough.' 

'  Has  it !'  said  papa.  '  Well, — what  good  will  that  do 
them  ?' 

'  Strengthen  their  hearts  for  continuing  the  struggle/ 
said  Mr.  Dinwiddie.  '  It  will  do  that.' 

*  The  struggle  cannot  last  very  long,'  said  my  father. 
'They  must  see  sooner  or  later  how  hopeless  it  is.' 

*  Not  in  the  light  of  these  last  events,'  said  Mr.  Din 
widdie.     '  What  does  my  other  friend  here  think  about 
it?' 

'About  what,  Mr.  Dinwiddie?' 

'The  length  of  the  struggle.' 

'  Do  you  think  Daisy  has  some  special  means  of  know 
ledge  ?'  asked  my  father  carelessly. 

'Well — yes,'  said  Mr  Dinwiddie.  'She  has  been 
among  Northern  friends  a  good  while ;  perhaps  she  can 
judge  better  of  their  tone  and  temper  than  I  can, — or 
you,  sir.' 

'  I  cannot  hold  just  the  view  that  you  do,  Mr.  Din 
widdie, — or  that  papa  does.' 

'  So  I  supposed.  You  think  there  are  'some  good  sol 
diers  in  the  Northern  army.' 

'  It  would  be  absurd  to  suppose  there  are  not,'  said  my 
father ;  '  but  what  they  do  want,  is  a  right  understanding 
of  the  spirit  of  the  South.  It  is  more  persistent  and  ob 
stinate,  as  well  as  strong,  than  the  North  .takes  any  ac 
count  of.  It  will  not  yield.  It  will  do  and  endure 
anything  first.' 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE.  249 

I  thought  I  had  heard  papa  intimate  a  doubt  oil  that 
issue ;  however  I  said  nothing. 

'If  spirit  would  save  a  people/  Mr.  Dinwiddie  re 
joined,  '  those  walls  over  against  us  would  not  bear  the 
testimony  they  do.  No  people  ever  fought  with  more 
spirit  than  this  people.  Yet  Jerusalem  is  a  heap  of 
ruins.' 

'  You  do  not  mean  that  such  a  fate  can  overtake  the 
whole  South  ?'  said  my  father. 

'  I  mean,  that  the  race  is  not  always  to  the  swift.  The 
South  have  right  on  their  side,  however.' 

'Right?'  said  I. 

'  I  thought  that  would  bring  you  out,'  Mr.  Dinwiddie 
said  with  a  kindly  look  at  me. 

'  Daisy  is  an  abolitionist,'  said  papa.  '  Where  she  got 
it,  is  out  of  my  knowledge.  But  I  think,  Mr.  Dinwid 
die,  there  are  minds  so  constituted  that  they  take  of  choice 
that  view  of  things  which  is  practically  the  most  adverse 
to  their  own  interest.' 

'Tell  papa,  Mr.  Dinwiddie,  that  that  cannot  be.' 

'  What  cannot  be,  if  you  please  ?' 

'  I  mean,  that  which  is  the  right  cannot  be  the  wrong 
in  any  sense ;  cannot  be  even  the  wrong  view  for  any 
body's  interest  that  adopts  it.' 

'  Fair  theories — '  said  papa. 

'  Something  else,  it  must  be,  papa.  There  is  a  promise 
— "  With  what  measure  ye  measure,  it  shall  be  measured 
to  you  again."  "  Give,  and  it  shall  be  given  unto  you  ; 
full  measure,  pressed  down,  heaped  up,  and  running  over, 
shall  men  give  into  your  bosom."  ; 

'  Why  into  my  bosom  ?'  said  papa.  '  I  would  rather  it 
were  into  my  hands,  or  a  basket,  or  anything.' 

We  went  off  into  a  laugh  upon  that,  and  Mr.  Dinwid 
die  explained,  and  the  conversation  turned.  We  went 
into  the  house  to  have  tea ;  and  there  we  discussed  the 


250  DAISY. 

subject  of  our  further  journey  and  when  we  should  set 
off.  Mr.  Dinwiddie  was  engaged  to  go  with  us  to  Leba 
non.  But  it  was  concluded  that  we  would  wait  yet  a 
little  for  the  season  to  be  further  advanced.  For  me,  I 
was  in  no  hurry  to  leave  the  Mount  of  Olives  and  Jeru 
salem. 

We  sat  on  the  roof  that  evening  and  watched  the  lights 
kindle  in  Jerusalem,  and  talked  of  the  old-time  scenes 
and  changes;  till  I  supposed  the  question  of  home 
troubles  and  our  poor  Magnolia  people  was  pretty  well 
driven  from  papa's  mind.  But  when  Mr.  Dinwiddie  was 
gone,  and  I  was  bidding  him  good-night,  he  held  me  fast 
in  his  arms,  looking  down  into  my  face. 

'  Little  Daisy  !'— he  said. 

'Not  just  now,  papa.' 

'The  very  same!'  he  said.  'My  little  Daisy! — who 
was  always  forgetting  herself  in  favour  of  any  poor  crea 
ture  that  came  in  her  way.' 

'  Papa — what  did  our  Lord  do  ?' 

'  Daisy,  do  you  expect  to  conform  yourself  and  every 
body  to  that  pattern  ?' 

'Myself,  papa.     Not  everybody.' 

'Me?'— 

I  could  not  answer  papa.  I  hid  my  face  on  his  breast; 
for  he  still  held  me.  And  now  he  kissed  me  fondly. 

'  We  must  not  do  what  mamma  would  never  agree  to/ 
he  said  very  kindly.  Again  I  could  make  no  answer.  I 
knew  all  about  mamma. 

'  Daisy,'  said  papa  presently,  wre  had  not  changed  our 
position, — '  is  Mr.  Dinwiddie  your  friend,  or  mine  ?' 

'Of  us  both,  papa!'  I  said  in  astonishment.  'Of  me 
particularly,  perhaps;  because  he  knows  me  best  and 
has  known  me  longest.' 

'  Then  he  comes  here  to  see  you  ?' 

'And  you,  papa.' 


THE   FORLORN  HOPE.  251 

1 1  am  afraid  he  does  not  come  to  see  me,'  papa  said. 
*  Do  you  like  to  see  him  very  much,  Daisy  ?' 

'  Certainly,  papa ;  very  much ;  because  he  is  an  old, 
old,  very  good  friend.  That  is  all.' 

'  You  are  sure  ?' 

'  Quite  sure,  papa.' 

'  I  believe  that  is  all,'  said  papa  looking  into  my  face. 
'  I  am  afraid,  however,  that  our  friend  wishes  he  were  not 
quite  so  old  a  friend.' 

'No,  papa,'  I  said;  'you  are  mistaken.  I  am  sure 
Mr.  Dinwiddie  does  not  think  so.  He  knows  better.' 

'  How  does  he  know  better  ?' 

'  I  think  he  understands,  papa.' 

'What?' 

'Me.' 

'What  about  you?' 

'  I  think  he  thinks  only  that, — what  I  said,  papa.' 

'And  how  came  you  to  think  he  thinks  anything 
about  it?' 

'Papa—' 

'  Has  he  ever  told  you  his  thoughts  ?' 

'  No,  sir ;  certainly.' 

'  Then  what  do  you  mean,  Daisy.' 

'  Papa — we  have  talked.' 

'But  not  about  that?' 

'  No,  papa ;  not  about  Mr.  Dinwiddie's  feelings,  cer 
tainly.  But  I  am  sure  he  understands.' 

'What,  my  pet  ?' 

'My  feelings,  papa.' 

'  Your  feeling  about  himself?' 

'Yes.' 

'  How  should  he  understand  it,  Daisy  ?' 

'I  think  he  does,  papa — ' 

'You  say,  you  "have  talked"?  What  course  did 
your  talk  take  ?' 


252  DAISY. 

My  heart  beat.  I  saw  what  was  coining  now, — what 
ought  to  come.  It  was  my  time. 

'  It  was  a  very  general  course,  papa.  It  did  not  touch, 
directly,  my  feeling  for  Mr.  Dinwiddie,  or  anybody/ 

*  Indirectly  ?' 

'  I  think — I  do  not  know — I  half  fancied,  Mr.  Din 
widdie  thought  so/ 

'Thought  what?' 

'That  it  did  touch  some  feeling  of  mine/ 

'  Not  for  himself.     For  some  other  ?' 

'  Yes — '  I  whispered. 

'  For  whom  ?'  he  said  abruptly.  And  then  as  I  hesi 
tated, — '  For  one  of  those  two  ?' 

'What  two?' 

'  De  Saussure  or  Marshall  ?' 

'O  no,  papa!' 

'  Your  cousin  Gary  ?' 

'O  no,  papa!' 

'  Have  I  lost  you,  Daisy  ?'  he  said  then  in  a  different 
tone,  gentle  and  lingering  and  full  of  regret.  My  breath 
was  gone ;  I  threw  my  arms  around  his  neck. 

'Why  did  you  never  tell  me  before,  Daisy?' 

'  Papa, — I  was  afraid/ 

'  Are  you  afraid  now  ?' 

'Yes/ 

'  Let  us  have  it  over  then,  Daisy.  Who  is  it  that  has 
stolen  you  from  me  ?' 

'O  no  one,  papa!'  I  cried.  'No  one  could.  No  one 
can/ 

'  Who  has  tried,  then?' 

'  A  great  many  people,  papa ;  but  not  this  person/ 

' How  has  it  come  to  pass  then,  my  pet?  And  who  is 
this  person  ?' 

'  Papa,  it  came  to  pass  without  anybody's  knowing  it 
or  meaning  it ;  and  when  I  knew  it,  then  I  could  not 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE.  253 

help  it.  But  not  what  you  say  has  come  to  pass ;  no 
body  has  stolen  or  could  steal  me  from  you.' 

1 1  have  only  lost,  without  any  other  being  the  gainer/ 
said  papa  a  little  bitterly. 

1  No,  papa,  you  have  not  lost ;  you  cannot ;  I  am  not 
changed,  papa,  do  you  not  see  that  I  am  not  changed  ? 
I  am  yours,  just  as  I  always  was, — only  more,  papa/ 

Papa  kissed  me,  but  it  cut  me  to  the  heart  to  feel  there 
was  pain  in  the  kiss.  I  did  what  my  lips  could  to  clear 
the  pain  away. 

'  Half  is  not  as  much  as  the  whole,  Daisy,'  he  said  at 
length. 

'  It  may  be,  papa.  Suppose  the  whole  is  twice  as  large 
as  it  used  to  be?' 

'  That  is  a  good  specimen  of  woman's  reasoning.  But 
you  have  not  told  me  all  yet,  Daisy.  Who  is  it  that 
holds  the  other  half?' 

There  was  so  much  soreness  and  disappointment  shewn 
in  papa's  words,  rather  in  the  manner  of  them,  that  it 
was  extremely  difficult  for  me  to  carry  on  the  conversa 
tion.  Tears  are  a  help,  I  suppose,  to  other  women. 
They  do  not  come  to  me,  not  at  such  times.  I  stood  still 
in  papa's  arms,  with  a  kind  of  dry  heartache.  The 
pain  in  his  words  was  a  terrible  trial  to  me.  He  folded 
me  close  again  and  kissed  me  over  and  over,  and  then 
whispered,  '  Who  is  it,  Daisy  ?' 

'  Papa,  it  was  at  West  Point.  I  never  meant  it,  and 
never  knew  it,  until  I  could  not  help  it.' 

'At  West  Point!'  said  papa. 

'Two  years  ago,  when  Dr.  Sandford  took  me  there.' 

'It  is  not  Dr.  Sandford!' 

'  O  no,  papa !  He  is  not  to  blame.  He  did  every 
thing  he  could  to  take  care  of  me.  He  knows  nothing 
at  all  about  it.' 

'  Who  is  it,  then  ?' 

VOL.  ii.— 22 


254  DAISY. 

1  He  was  a  cadet  then,  papa ;  he  is  in  the  army  now.' 

'  Who  is  he?' 

1  He  is  from  Vermont ;  his  name  is  Thorold.' 

1  Not  a  Southerner  ?' 

'  No,  papa.     Do  you  care  very  much  for  that  ?' 

'  Is  he  in  the  Northern   army,  Daisy  ?' 

'  He  could  not  help  that,  papa ;  being  a  Vermonter.' 

Papa  let  me  go ;  I  had  been  standing  in  his  arms  all 
this  while;  and  took  several  turns  up  and  down  our 
little  room.  I  sat  down,  for  my  joints  trembled  under 
ine.  Papa  walked  and  walked. 

'  Does  your  mother  know  ?'  he  said  at  last. 

'  I  dared  not  tell  her.' 

1  Who  does  know  ?' 

*  Nobody,  papa,  but  you,  and  an  old  friend  of  mine  in 
New  York, — an  aunt  of  Mr.  Thorold's.' 

( Daisy,  what  is  this  young  man  ?' 

•'  Papa,  I  wish  you  could  know  him.' 

'How  comes  it  that  he,  as  well  as  you,  has  kept 
silence  ?' 

'  I  don't  know,  papa.  His  letter  must  have  miscarried. 
He  was  going  to  write  to  you  immediately,  just  before  I 
left  Washington.  I  was  afraid  to  have  him  do  it,  but  he 
insisted  that  he  must.' 

'  Why  were  you  afraid  ?' 

'Papa,  I  knew  you  and  mamma  would  not  be 
pleased ;  that  it  would  not  be  what  you  would  wish ; 
and  I  feared  mamma,  and  perhaps  you,  would  forbid 
him  at  once.' 

'  Does  he  write  to  you  ?' 

'  I  would  not  let  him,  papa,  without  your  permission ; 
and  I -was  afraid  I  could  not  get  that.' 

'  What  did  you  expect  to  do  then,  Daisy,  if  I  was  never 
to  be  told?' 

'  I  thought  to  wait  only  till  the  war  should  be  over, 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE.  255 

papa,  when — he  might  see  you  himself  and  you  might 
see  him.     I  thought  that  would  be  the  best  way.' 

'#6  did  not?' 

'No  ;  he  insisted  on  writing.' 

He  was   right.     What   is  the  young   man's   name, 
Daisy  ?  you  have  not  told  me  yet. 

'  Christian  Thorold.' 

*  Thorold,'  said  papa.     '  It  is  an  English  name.    Have 
you  heard  nothing  from  him,  Daisy,  since  you  came  to 
Switzerland  ?' 

'  Nothing,' — I  said. 

Papa  came  over  again  to  where  I  sat  on  the  divan, 
bent  down  and  kissed  me. 

I  Am  I  such  a  terror  to  you,  Daisy  ?: 

1 0  no,  papa,'  I  said  bursting  into  tears  at  last ; — '  but 
mamma — you  know  if  mamma  said  a  word  at  first,  she 
would  never  go  back  from  it.' 

I 1  know,'  he  said.     '  And  I  choose,  for  the  present, 
that  this  matter  should  remain  a  secret  between  you  and 
me.     You  need  not  tell  your  mother  until  I  bid  you.' 

1  Yes,  papa.     Thank  you.' 

*  And,  Daisy,'  said  he  stroking  my  hair  fondly, — '  the 
war  is  not  ended  in  America  yet,  and  I  am  afraid  we 
have  a  long  time  to  wait  for  it.     Poor  child ! — But  for 
the  present  there  are  no  storms  ahead.' 

I  rose  up  and  kissed  papa,  with  a  very  tender  good 
night  given  and  exchanged ;  and  then  I  went  to  my 
room.  The  Jerusalem  lights  were  out.  But  a  peace, 
deep  and  wide  as  the  blue  arch  of  the  sky,  seemed  to 
have  spanned  my  life  and  my  heart. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

OUT     OF     THE     SMOKE. 

THERE  was  an  immense  burden  lifted  off  me.  It  is 
difficult  to  express  the  change  and  the  relief  in  my  feel 
ings.  The  next  day  was  given  to  an  excursion  in  the 
neighbourhood;  and  I  never  can  forget  %how  rare  the  air 
seemed  to  be,  as  if  I  were  breathing  pure  life  ;  and  how 
brilliant  the  sunlight  was  that  fell  on  the  wonderful  Pal 
estine  carpet  of  spring  flowers.  All  over  they  were; 
under  foot  and  everywhere  else;  flashing  from  hidden 
places,  peeping  round  corners,  smiling  at  us  in  every 
meadow  and  hillside ;  a  glory  upon  the  land.  Papa  was 
in  great  delight,  as  well  as  I ;  and  as  kind  as  possible  to 
me ;  also  very  good  to  Mr.  Dinwiddie.  Mr.  Dinwiddie 
himself  seemed  to  me  transformed.  I  had  gone  back  now 
to  the  free  feeling  of  a  child ;  and  he  looked  to  me  again 
as  my  childish  eyes,  had  seen  him.  There  was  a  great 
amount  of  fire  and  vigour  and  intellectual  life  in  his 
countenance ;  the  auburn  hair  and  the  brown  eyes  glowed 
together  with  the  hue  of  a  warm  temperament ;  but  that 
was  tempered  by  a  sweet  and  manly  character.  I  thought 
he  had  grown  soberer  than  the  Mr.  Dinwiddie  of  my  re 
membrance. 

That  particular  day  lies  in  my  memory  like  some  far- 
off  lake  that  one  has  seen  just  under  the  horizon  of  a  wide 
landscape, — a  still  bit  of  silvery  light.  It  is  not  the  dis 
tance,  though,  in  this  case,  that  gives  it  its  shining. 
We  were  going  that  morning  to  visit  Gibeon  and 

256 


OUT  OF   THE  SMOKE.  257 

Samwil ;  and  the  landscape  was  full,  for  me,  of  the  peace 
which  had  come  into  the  relations  between  me  and  papa. 
It  was  a  delicious  spring  day ;  the  flowers  bursting  under 
our  feet  with  their  fresh  smiles ;  the  air  perfumed  with 
herby  scents  and  young  sweetness  of  nature ;  while  asso 
ciations  of  old  time  clustered  all  about,  like  sighs  of 
history.  We  went  first  along  the  great  stony  track  which 
leads  from  Jerusalem  to  the  north;  then  turned  aside 
into  the  great  route  from  Jaffa  to  Jerusalem ;  not  the 
southern  and  rougher  way  which  we  had  taken  when  we 
came  from  the  coast.  This  was  the  approach  of  almost 
all  the  armies  which  have  poured  their  fury  on  the  de 
voted  city.  We  went  single  file,  as  one  has  to  go  in  Pal 
estine  ;  and  I  liked  it.  There  was  too  much  to  think  of 
to  make  one  want  to  talk.  And  the  buoyancy  of  the  air 
seemed  to  feed  mind  as  well  as  body,  and  give  all  the 
stimulus  needed.  Mr.  Dinwiddie  sometimes  called  out 
to  me  to  point  my  attention  to  something ;  and  the  rest  of 
the  time  I  kept  company  with  the  past  and  my  own 
musings. 

We  visited  Gibeon  first,  and  stood  by  the  dry  pool 
where  Abner  and  Joab  watched  the  fight  of  their  twelve 
picked  men  ;  and  we  read  Solomon's  prayer. 

'  This  is  a  wonderful  country/  said  papa,  '  for  the  way 
its  associations  are  packed.  There  is  more  history  here 
than  in  any  other  region  of  the  world.' 

'  Well,  papa,  it  is  the  world's  history/  I  said. 

'  What  do  you  mean,  Daisy  ?' 

I  hesitated ;  it  was  not  very  easy  to  tell. 

'  She  is  right  though,'  said  Mr.  Dinwiddie ;  '  it  is  the 
very  core  of  the  world's  history,  round  which  the  other 
is  slowly  gathering  and  maturing,  to  the  perfected  fruit. 
Or  to  take  it  another  way, — ever  since  God  at  the  first 
did  visit  the  Gentiles,  to  take  out  of  them  a  people  for 
his  name,  his  dealings  with  that  people  have  been  an 
22*  R 


258  DAISY. 

earnest  and  an  image  of  his  course  with  his  Church  at 
large.  We  may  cut  down  to  the  heart  of  the  world  and 
find  the  perfect  flower  here — as  we  do  in  bulbs.' 

'  A  blossoming  to  destruction  then,  it  seems,'  said  my 
father. 

'No!'  said  Mr.  Dinwiddie — 'to  restoration  and  glory. 
The  history  of  this  land  is  not  yet  finished.' 

'  And  you  think  that  is  in  store  for  it  yet  ?' 

Mr.  Dinwiddie  answered, — '  "  Thus  saith  the  Lord ;  If 
ye  can  break  my  covenant  of  the  day,  and  my  covenant 
of  the  night,  and  that  there  should  not  be  day  and  night 
in  their  season ;  then  may  also  my  covenant  be  broken 
with  David  my  servant,  that  he  should  not  have  a  son  to 
reign  upon  his  throne ;  and  with  the  Levites  the  priests, 
my  ministers.  As  the  hosts  of  heaven  cannot  be  num 
bered,  neither  the  sand  of  the  sea  measured :  so  will  I 
multiply  the  seed  of  David  my  servant,  and  the  Levites 
that  minister  unto  me."  ' 

'Who  spoke  that?' 

'  The  prophet  Jeremiah.' 

'  And  when,  pray  ?' 

'  When  Nebuchadnezzar  and  his  army  were  just  upon 
the  point  of  completing  the  destruction  of  the  city  and 
of  the  people.' 

'  Then  it  refers  to  their  return  from  captivity,  does  it 
not?' 

'As  the  type  of  the  other  restoration,'  said  Mr.  Din 
widdie.  '  For  "  In  those  days,  and  at  that  time,  will  I 
cause  the  Branch  of  righteousness  to  grow  up  unto  Da 
vid  ;  and  he  shall  execute  judgment  and  righteousness  in 
the  land.  In  those  days  shall  Judah  be  saved,  and  Je 
rusalem  shall  dwell  safely  ;  and  this  is  the  name  whereby 
she  shall  be  called,  The  Lord  our  righteousness."  More 
over,  in  Ezekiel's  vision  of  a  new  temple  and  city,  he 
gives  the  dimensions  of  the  temple  large  enough  to  take 


OUT  OF   THE  SMOKE.  259 

in  all  Jerusalem,  and  the  holy  city  as  many  times  ex 
ceeding  its  utmost  actual  limits ;  and  he  says,  "  the  name 
of  the  city  from  that  day  shall  be,  The  Lord  is  there." 
Jehovah  shammah.  I  wish  the  day  were  come.' 

'You  take  it  as  entirely  figurative!'  said  papa.  'I 
thought  just  now  you  made  it  entirely  literal.' 

'  What  is  a  figure  ?'  said  Mr.  Dinwiddie.  *  And  if  you 
take  away  the  literal,  where  will  the  spiritual  be  ?' 

'True,'  said  papa.  'These  are  things  I  have  noi 
studied.' 

And  then  we  mounted  to  the  height  of  Neby  Samwil 
and  sat  down  for  a  good  long  look.  Mr.  Dinwiddie  was 
here  as  elsewhere  invaluable.  He  told  us  everything  and 
pointed  out  everything  to  us,  that  we  ought  to  see  or 
know.  The  seacoast  plain  lay  below,  spread  out  for  many 
a  mile,  with  here  a  height  and  there  a  cluster  of  build 
ings,  and  the  blue  sea  washing  its  western  border.  We 
could  easily  see  Jaffa,  Ramleh  and  Lydda ;  we  picked 
those  spots  out  first  which  we  knew.  Then  Mr.  Dinwid 
die  pointed  us  to  Ashdod,  and  to  Ekron,  a  little  to  the 
left  of  Kamleh. 

'  And  that  is  where  Nebuchadnezzar  was  with  his  army, 
before  he  went  up  to  Jerusalem,'  I  said. 

'  The  first  time,'  said  Mr.  Dinwiddie.  'Yes ;  there  his 
hosts  of  Chaldeans  lay  in  the  plain ;  and  there  after  the 
place  was  taken  he  impaled  the  chiefs  of  the  town ;  and 
then  flushed  with  power,  came  up  to  Jerusalem  and  cast 
banks  against  it.  So  he  says;  and  we  know  that  so 
Isaiah  prophesied  he  would  do  ;  and  we  know  that  Heze- 
kiah  bought  him  off.' 

'  Did  he  come  up  this  way  of  the  Beth-horons  ?'  I 
asked. 

'  I  suppose  so.  And  down  this  way,  Joshua  chased 
the  fleeing  kings  and  their  followers  and  overthrew  them 
as  they  fled  down  the  pass — what  a  rush  it  must  have 


260  DAISY. 

been! — and  down  there,  down  where  the  green  sweeps 
into  the  hills  from  the  plain,  there  is  Ajalon.' 

'  Papa,  do  you  see  ?' 

'  I  see ;  but  I  do  not  understand  quite  so  well  as  you 
do,  Daisy,  what  you  are  talking  about/ 

'  It  is  Miss  Randolph's  own  country/  remarked  Mr. 
Dinwiddie. 

'  She  is  not  a  Jewess,'  said  papa. 

'  Pardon  me — we  have  it  on  authority  that  "  he  is  a 
Jew  which  is  one  inwardly;" — an  Israelite  indeed,'  Mr. 
Dinwiddie  muttered  to  himself. 

I  saw  papa  was  puzzled  and  half  displeased.    I  hastened 
to  turn  the  conversation,  and  shewed  him  where  Bethel 
lay  and  the  mountains  of  Ephraim ;  and  finally  ordered 
our  luncheon  basket  to  be  brought  forward.     But  we  had 
to  leave  our  position  and  choose  a  shaded  place,  the  sun 
was  growing  so  hot. 

'  How  long  do  you  expect  to  remain  here — in  Pales 
tine,  Mr.  Dinwiddie?'  something  prompted  me  to  ask. 
He  hesitated  a  moment  or  two  and  then  replied — 

I 1  cannot  tell — probably  as  long  as  I  stay  anywhere  on 
this  scene  of  action.' 

1  You  do  not  mean  ever  to  come  home  ?'  I  said. 

'What  is  "home,"  Miss  Daisy?'  he  replied,  looking 
at  me. 

'  It  is  where  we  were  born,'  said  papa. 

'Would  your  daughter  say  so?' 

'  No,'  I  answered ;  for  I  was  born  at  Magnolia.  '  But 
I  think  home  is  where  we  have  lived, — is  it  not?' 

'  Melbourne  ?'  Mr.  Dinwiddie  suggested. 

'No,'  said  I;  'it  is  not  Melbourne  now,  to  be  sure; 
but  neither  could  it  be  possibly  any  place  in  Europe,  or 
Asia.' 

'  Are  you  sure  ?    Not  in  any  circumstances  ?' 

I  cannot  tell  what,  in  his  tone  or  look,  drove  his  mean- 


OUT   OF   THE  SMOKE.  261 

ing  home.  But  I  felt  the  colour  rise  in  my  face  and  I 
could  not  answer. 

'  It  is  where  the  heart  is,  after  all,'  Mr.  Dinwiddie  re 
sumed.  '  The  Syrian  sky  does  not  make  much  difference. 
My  home  is  waiting  for  me.' 

'  But  we  speak  of  home  here,  and  properly.' 

'  Properly,  for  those  who  have  it.' 

'  I  think,  Mr.  Dinwiddie,  that  we  say  "  home"  some 
times,  when  we  speak  only  of  where  the  heart  was.' 

'  Better  not,'  he  said.  '  Let  us  have  a  living  home,  not 
a  dead  one.  And  that  we  can,  always.' 

'  What  do  you  know  of  places  where  the  heart  was  f 
said  papa,  looking  at  me  curiously. 

'Not  much,  papa;  but  I  was  thinking;  and  I  think 
people  mean  that  sometimes.' 

'  We  will  both  trust  she  will  never  come  nearer  to  the 
knowledge,'  said  Mr.  Dinwiddie,  with  one  of  his  bright 
looks  at  papa  and  at  me.  It  was  assuming  a  little  more 
interest  in  our  affairs  than  I  feared  papa  would  like ;  but 
he  took  it  quietly.  More  quietly  than  I  could,  though 
my  reason  for  disquietude  was  different.  Mr.  Dinwiddie's 
words  had  set  vibrating  a  chord  in  my  heart  which  could 
not  just  then  give  a  note  of  pleasure.  I  wanted  it  to  lie 
still.  The  wide  fair  landscape  took  a  look  to  me  instantly, 
which  indeed  belonged  to  it,  of  "  places  where  the  heart 
was;"  and  the  echo  of  broken  hopes  came  up  to  my  ear 
from  the  gray  ruins  near  and  far.  Yet  the  flowers  of 
spring  were  laughing  and  shouting  under  my  fr^.t.  Was 
it  hope,  or  mockery  ? 

'  What  are  you  questioning,  Miss  Daisy  ?'  said  Mr.  Din 
widdie,  as  he  offered  me  some  fruit. 

'  I  seemed  to  hear  two  voices  in  nature,  Mr.  PJowid- 
die ; — I  wanted  to  find  out  which  was  the  true.' 

'What  were  the  voices? — and  I  will  tell  you.' 

'  One  came  from  the  old  heap  of  Ekron  yonder,  *nd 


262  DAISY. 

the  ruins  of  Ramleh,  and  Jerusalem,  and  Gibeon,  and 
Bethel ; — the  other  voice  came  from  the  flowers.' 

'  Trust  the  flowers.' 

'  Why,  more  than  the  ruins  ?' 

'Kemember,' — said  he.  'One  is  God's  truth;  the 
other  is  man's  falsehood.' 

'But  the  ruins  tell  truth  too,  Mr.  Dinwiddie.' 

'  What  truth  ?  They  tell  of  man's  faithlessness,  per 
versity,  wrongheadedness,  disobedience;  persisted  in,  till 
there  was  no  remedy.  And  now,  to  be  sure,  they  are  a 
desolation.  But  that  is  not  what  God  willed  for  the 
land.' 

'  Yet  surely,  Mr.  Dinwiddie,  there  come  desolations  into 
people's  lives  too.' 

'  By  the  same  reason.' 

'  Surely  without  it  sometimes.' 

'  Nay,'  he  said.  *  The  Lord  redeemeth  the  soul  of 
his  servants ;  and  none  of  them  that  trust  in  him  shall 
be  desolate.' 

'  But  their  lives  are  empty  sometimes  ?' 

'That  they  may  be  more  full,  then.  Depend  on  it, 
the  promise  is  sure, — they  shall  not  want  any  good 
thing.' 

'  One  must  let  the  Lord  judge  then,'  I  said  somewhat 
sorrowfully,  '  what  are  the  good  things.' 

'  Will  we  not  ?'  said  Mr.  Dinwiddie.  '  Do  we  know  ? 
We  must  agree  to  his  judgment,  too;  and  then  we  shall 
find  there  is  no  want  to  them  that  fear  him.  The  Lord 
is  my  Shepherd ! — I  shall  not  want.  But  the  sheep  fol 
low  the  shepherd,  and  never  dream  of  choosing  out  their 
own  pasture,  Miss  Daisy.' 

My  voice  choked  a  little  and  I  could  not  answer. 
And  all  the  rest  of  the  day  I  could  not  get  back  my 
quiet.  The  talk  of  leaving  the  choice  of  my  life  out  of 
my  own  hands,  had  roused  my  hands  to  cling  to  their 


OUT  OF   THE  SMOKE.  263 

choice  with  a  terrible  grasp  lest  it  should  be  taken  away 
from  them.  The  idea  that  Thorold  and  I  might  be 
parted  from  each  other,  made  my  heart  leap  out  with  in 
expressible  longing  to  be  with  him.  It  was  not  till  we 
got  home  to  the  Mount  of  Olives  again,  and  I  was  watch 
ing  the  glory  of  the  sunset,  turning  Jerusalem  to  gold 
and  bringing  out  rosy  and  purple  and  amethyst  hues 
from  the  Moab  mountains,  that  my  heart  leapt  back  to 
its  rest  and  'I  heard  the  voice  of  nature  and  God  again 
above  the  din  of  my  own  heart. 

As  soon  as  the  season  was  far  enough  advanced,  and 
Mr.  Dinwiddie  could  make  his  arrangements  to  be  with 
us,  we  left  Jerusalem  and  its  surroundings  and  set  off 
northwards.  It  was  hard  to  go.  Where  many  a  sor 
rowful  traveller  has  left  his  little  mound  of  farewell 
stones  on  Scopus,  I  stood  and  looked  back ;  as  long  as 
papa  would  wait  for  me.  Jerusalem  looked  so  fair,  and 
the  thought  and  prospect  of  another  Jerusalem  lay  before 
me,  fairer  indeed,  but  so  distant.  And  I  fancied  storms 
and  some  rough  travelling  between.  And  here,  in  the 
actual  Jerusalem,  my  life  had  been  very  sweet ;  peaceful 
with  a  whole  flood  tide  of  peacefulness.  I  resolved  I 
would  not  lose  nor  forget  this  ungratefully  ;  but  as  long 
as  I  could  I  would  be  happy.  So  I  turned  my  face  at 
last  to  enjoy  every  foot  of  the  way  to  Nablous. 

During  our  stay  at  Jerusalem  and  on  the  Mount  of 
Olives,  of  course  letters  and  papers  had  been  received 
regularly ;  and  sometimes  a  bit  of  news  from  America 
had  made  all  our  hearts  stir.  Mine,  Avith  a  new  throb  of 
hope  and  possible  exultation  ;  for  what  we  heard  was  on 
the  side  of  Northern  successes.  Still,  papa  and  Mr.  Din 
widdie  agreed  these  were  but  the  fortune  of  war,  and 
could  not  in  the  nature  of  things  last.  The  South  could 
not  be  overcome.  So  they  said,  and  I  feared.  But  a 
thrill  of  possible  doubt  came  over  me  when  I  heard  of 


264  DAISY. 

Fort  Donelson,  and  the  battle  of  Pea  Eidge,  and  the 
prowess  of  the  little  iron-clad  Monitor.  And  a  great  throb 
of  another  kind  heaved  my  heart,  when  we  got  the  news 
of  President  Lincoln's  Message,  recommending  that  as 
sistance  should  be  given  by  Congress  to  every  Southern 
State  which  would  abolish  slavery.  A  light  broke  in 
upon  the  whole  struggle ;  and  from  that  time  the  war  was 
a  different  thing  to  me.  Papa  and  Mr.  Dinwiddie  talked 
a  great  deal  about  it,  discussing  the  subject  in  almost  all 
its  bearings.  I  sat  by  and  said  nothing. 

I  would  not  read  the  papers  myself,  all  this  time.  In 
America  I  had  studied  them,  and  in  Switzerland  and 
in  Florence  I  had  devoured  them.  Here  in  the  Holy 
Land,  I  had  made  an  agreement  with  myself  to  be 
happy;  to  leave  the  care  of  things  which  I  could  not 
manage,  and  not  to  concern  myself  with  the  fluctuations 
on  the  face  of  affairs  which  I  could  not  trace  out  to  their 
consequences,  do  what  I  would.  So  I  heard  the  princi 
pal  points  of  news  from  papa's  talk  and  Mr.  Dinwiddie's ; 
I  let  the  papers  alone.  Only  with  one  exception.  I  could 
not  help  it.  I  could  not  withhold  myself  from  looking 
at  the  lists  of  wounded  and  killed.  I  looked  at  nothing 
more;  but  the  thought  that  one  name  might  be  there 
would  have  incessantly  haunted  me,  if  I  had  not  made 
sure  that  it  was  not  there.  I  dreaded  every  arrival  from 
the  steamers  of  a  new  mail  budget. 

From  Mr.  Thorold  I  got  no  letter.  Nor  from  Miss 
Cardigan.  From  Mrs.  Sandford  one;  which  told  me 
nothing  I  wanted  to  know.  To  mamma  papa  had  writ 
ten,  describing  to  her  the  pleasure  we  were  enjoying  and 
the  benefit  his  health  was  deriving  from  our  journey,  and 
asking  her  to  join  us  at  Beyrout  and  spend  the  summer 
on  Lebanon. 

Towards  Beyrout  we  now  journeyed  gently  on ;  stop 
ping  and  lingering  by  the  way  as  our  custom  was.  At 


OUT  OF  THE  SMOKE.  265 

Nablous,  at  Nazareth,  at  Tiberias,  at  Safed,  at  Banias ; 
then  across  the  country  to  Sidon,  down  to  Khaiffa  and 
Carmel ;  finally  we  went  up  to  Beyrout.  Papa  enjoyed 
every  bit  of  the  way ;  to  me  it  was  a  journey  scarcely  of 
this  earth,  the  happiness  of  it  was  so  great.  Mr.  Din- 
widdie  everywhere  our  kind  and  skilful  guide,  counsellor, 
helper ;  knowing  all  the  ground,  and  teaching  us  to  use 
our  time  to  the  very  best  advantage.  He  made  papa 
more  at  ease  about  me,  and  me  about  papa. 

At  Beyrout,  for  the  first  time  since  we  left  Jerusalem, 
we  found  ourselves  again  in  a  hotel.  Mr.  Dinwiddie 
went  to  find  our  despatches  that  were  awaiting  us.  Papa 
lay  down  on  the  cushions  of  a  divan.  I  sat  at  the  win 
dow,  wondering  at  what  I  saw.  I  wonder  now  at  the  re 
membrance. 

It  was  afternoon,  and  the  shades  and  colours  on  the 
mountains  and  the  sea  were  a  labyrinth  of  delight.  Yes, 
the  eye  and  the  mind  lost  themselves  again  and  again,  to 
start  back  again  to  the  consciousness  of  an  enchanted  ex 
istence.  The  mountains  rising  from  the  coast  were  in 
full  view  of  my  window,  shaded  with  all  sorts  of  green 
from  the  different  woods  and  cultivation  which  clothed 
their  sides.  The  eye  followed  their  growing  heights  and 
ridges,  till  it  rested  on  the  snow  summit  of  Sunnin ;  then 
swept  round  the  range  to  the  southward ;  but  ever  came 
back  again  to  the  lofty,  reposeful  majesty  of  that  white 
mountain  top  in  the  blue  ether.  Little  streams  I  could 
see  dashing  down  the  rocks ;  a  white  thread  amongst  the 
green ;  castles  or  buildings  of  some  stately  sort  were  upon 
every  crag;  I  found  afterwards  they  were  monasteries. 
The  sea  waves  breaking  on  the  rocks  of  the  shore  gave 
other  touches  of  white,  and  the  sea  was  taking  a  deep 
hue,  and  the  town  stretching  back  from  it  looked  gay 
and  bright,  with  pretty  houses  and  palm  trees  and 
palaces,  and  bright-coloured  dresses  flitting  here  and 
VOL.  n.— 23 


266  DAISY. 

there  in  the  streets ;  and  white  sails  were  on  the  sea.  I 
had  never  seen,  I  have  never  seen,  anything  more  lovely 
than  Beyrout.  I  had  come  to  the  city  rather  anxious ; 
for  we  expected  there  to  meet  a  great  budget  of  news, 
which  I  always  dreaded ;  wandering  about  from  place  to 
place,  we  had  been  blissfully  separated  for  some  time  from 
all  disturbing  intelligence.  Now  we  must  meet  it,  per 
haps  ;  but  the  glory  of  the  beauty  before  me  wrapped  my 
heart  round  as  with  an  unearthly  shield.  Peace,  peace, 
and  good  will, — it  spoke,  from  Him  who  made  the  beauty 
and  owned  the  glory;  softly  it  reminded  me  that  my 
Father  in  heaven  could  not  fail  in  love  nor  in  resources. 
I  leaned  my  head  against  the  frame  of  the  open  window, 
and  rested  and  was  glad. 

Mr.  Dinwiddie  came  back  with  a  business  step.  I 
looked  up,  but  I  would  not  fear.  He  laid  a  pile  of  letters 
and  papers  before  papa,  and  then  sat  down  to  the  con 
sideration  of  some  of  his  own. 

1  What  is  doing  at  home,  Dinwiddie?7  papa  asked. 

'  A  good  deal,  since  our  last  advices.' 

'  What  ?    I  am  tired  of  reading  about  it.' 

'Yes,'  said  Mr.  Dinwiddie.  'You  want  me  to  save 
you  the  trouble  ?' 

'  If  it  is  no  trouble  to  you.' 

'The  news  is  of  several  advantages  gained  by  the 
Yankees.' 

'  That  won't  last,'  said  papa.  '  But  there  are  always 
fluctuations  in  these  things.' 

'Back  in  March,'  Mr.  Dinwiddie  went  on,  'there  are 
reported  two  engagements  in  which  our  troops  came  off 
second  best — at  Newbern  and  at  Winchester.  It  is  diffi 
cult  perhaps  to  know  the  exact  truth — the  papers  on  the 
two  sides  hold  such  different  language.  But  the  sixth  of 
April  there  was  a  furious  battle  at  Pittsburg  Landing, 
our  men  headed  by  Beauregard,  Polk  and  Sidney  John- 


OUT  OF   THE  SMOKE.  267 

,  when  our  men  got  the  better  very  decidedly ;  the 
next  day  came  up  a  sweeping  reinforcement  of  the  enemy 
under  Grant  and  others,  and  took  back  the  fortune  of 
war  into  their  own  hands,  it  seems.' 

'  Perhaps  that  is  doubtful  too,'  observed  my  father. 

'I  see  Beauregard  asked  permission  to  bury  his 
dead.' 

1  Many  killed  ?'  asked  my  father. 

'  Terribly  many.  There  were  large  numbers  engaged, 
and  fierce  fighting.' 

So  they  can  do  it,  I  said  to  myself,  amid  all  my  heart- 
beating. 

'  There  will  be  of  course,  some  variation  of  success/ 
said  my  father. 

'  The  pendulum  is  swung  all  to  one  side,  in  these  last 
news,'  said  Mr.  Dinwiddie. 

1  What  next?' 

'  Fort  Pulaski  is  taken.' 

'Pulaski!'  my  father  exclaimed. 

'  Handsomely  done,  after  a  bombardment  of  thirty 
hours.' 

*  I  am  surprised,  I  confess,'  said  papa. 

'  The  House  of  Representatives  has  passed  a  bill  for 

the  abolition  of  slavery  in  the  District.' 

4  O  I  am  glad !'  I  exclaimed.     '  That  is  good.' 

'  Is  that  all  you  think  good  in  the  news  ?'  said  Mr. 

Dinwiddie  a  little  pointedly. 

*  Daisy  is  a  rebel,'  said  papa. 

'  No,  papa ;  not  /  surely.  I  stand  by  the  President 
and  the  Country.' 

'  Then  we  are  rebels,  Dinwiddie,'  said  papa  half  wearily. 
'  Half  the  country  is  playing  the  fool,  that  is  clear ;  and 
the  whole  must  suffer.' 

*  But  the  half  where  the  seat  of  war  is,  suffers  the 
most.' 


268  DAISY. 

1  That  will  not  last,'  said  papa.     '  I  know  the  South.' 
'  I  wonder  if  we  know  the  North,'  said  Mr.  Dinwiddie. 
'  Farragut  has  run  the  gauntlet  of  the  forts  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Mississippi  and  taken  New  Orleans.' 

*  Taken   New  Orleans!'    my  father  exclaimed  again, 
rising  half  up  as  he  lay  on  the  cushions  of  the  divan. 

'It  was  done  in  style,'  said  Mr.  Dinwiddie  looking 
along  the  columns  of  his  paper.  '  Let  me  read  you  this, 
Mr.  Randolph.' 

Papa  assented,  and  he  read ;  while  I  turned  my  face 
to  the  window  again,  and  listened  to  Farragut's  guns  and 
looked  at  Lebanon.  What  a  strange  hour  it  was !  There 
was  hope  at  work  and  rejoicing ;  but  it  shook  me.  And 
the  calmness  of  the  everlasting  hills  and  the  mingled 
sweetnesses  of  the  air,  came  in  upon  the  fever  of  my 
heart  writh  cooling  and  quieting  power.  The  sea  grew  a 
deeper  blue  as  I  listened  and  looked ;  the  mountains — 
what  words  can  tell  the  mantle  of  their  own  purple  that 
enfolded  them  as  the  evening  came  on ;  and  the  snowy 
heights  of  Sunnin  and  Kunisyeh  grew  rosy.  I  looked 
and  I  drank  it  in ;  and  I  could  not  fear  for  the  future. 

I  believe  I  had  fallen  into  a  great  reverie,  during 
which  Mr.  Dinwiddie  ended  his  reading  and  left  the 
room.  It  was  papa's  touch  on  my  shoulder  that  roused 
me.  He  had  come  to  my  side. 

*  Are  you  happy,  Daisy  ?'  was  his  question. 
'  Papa  ? — '  I  said  in  bewilderment. 

'  Your  face  was  as  calm  as  if  you  had  nothing  to  think 
about.' 

'  I  had  been  thinking,  papa.  I  was  thinking,  I 
believe.' 

1  Does  this  strange  news  make  you  happy  ?' 

'  O  no,  papa ;  not  that.' 

4  What  then?' 

'  Something  that  is  no  news,  and  that  never  can  grow 


OUT  OF   THE  SMOKE.  269 

old,  papa.     The  mountains  and  the  sea  were  just  re 
minding  me  of  it.' 

*  You  mean — what?     You  speak  riddles,  Daisy.' 

*  Papa,  you  would  give  me  everything  good  for  me,  if 
you  could.' 

He  kissed  me  fondly. 

'  I  would,  my  child.  Whether  I  can,  or  no,  that 
troubles  me  by  its  uncertainty.' 

'  Papa,  my  Father  in  heaven  can,  and  will.  There  is 
no  doubt  about  his  power.  And  so  there  is  no  uncer 
tainty.' 

'Daisy! — '  said  papa,  looking  at  me  in  a  strange 
way. 

'  Yes,  papa,  I  mean  it.     Papa,  you  know  it  is  true.' 

'  I  know  you  deserve  all  I  can  give  you,'  he  said,  taking 
my  face  in  his  two  hands  and  looking  into  it.  '  Daisy — is 
there  anybody  in  the  world  that  loves  you  as  well  as  I 
do?' 

That  was  a  little  too  much,  to  bring  up  my  heart  in 
words  in  that  manner.  In  spite  of  my  composure,  which 
I  thought  so  strong,  I  was  very  near  bursting  into  tears. 
I  believe  my  face  flushed  and  then  grew  pale  with  the 
struggle.  Papa  took  me  in  his  arms. 

'  You  shall  have  no  trouble  that  I  can  shield  you 
from,'  he  said  tenderly.  'I  will  put  nothing  between 
you  and  this  young  man  if  he  is  worthy  of  you,  Daisy. 
/  will  put  nothing.  But  others  may.  My  power  reaches 
only  a  certain  distance.' 

'Papa — '  I  began,  but  I  could  not  say  what  I 
would. 

'  Well  ? — '  said  he  tenderly,  stroking  my  hair,  *  what  is 
it?  I  would  keep  all  trouble  from  you,  my  pet,  if  I 
could.' 

1  Papa,'  I  whispered,  'that  may  not  be  best.  We 
must  leave  that.  But  papa,  if  you  only  knew  what 

23* 


270  DAISY. 

know  and  were  glad  as  I  am  glad, — I  think  I  could  bear 
all  the  rest!' 

'  How  shall  I  be  glad  as  you  are  glad,  Daisy  ?'  he  said 
half  sadly. 

'Papa,  let  Jesus  make  you  happy!' 

'  You  are  talking  Hebrew,  my  child.' 

f  No,  papa ;  for  if  you  seek  him,  he  will  make  you 
happy.' 

'Come!  we  will  seek  him  from  to-day,'  my  father 
said. 

And  that  was  my  summer  on  Lebanon.  My  mother 
wrote  that  she  would  not  join  us  in  Syria ;  she  preferred 
to  remain  in  Paris,  where  she  had  my  aunt  Gary's  com 
pany  and  could  receive  the  American  news  regularly. 
Her  words  were  bitter  and  scornful  about  the  successes 
of  the  Northern  army  and  McClellan's  fruitless  siege  of 
Yorktown ;  so  bitter,  that  papa  and  I  passed  them  over 
without  a  word  of  comment,  knowing  how  they  bore  on 
my  possible  future. 

But  we,  we  studied  the  Bible,  and  we  lived  on  Leb 
anon.  And  when  I  have  said  that,  I  have  said  all. 
From  one  village  to  another,  higher  and  higher  up,  we 
went;  pitching  our  tents  under  the  grand  old  walnut 
trees,  within  sight  or  hearing  of  mountain  torrents  that 
made  witcheries  of  beauty  in  the  deep  ravines ;  studying 
sunrisings,  when  the  light  came  over  the  mountain's 
brow  and  lit  our  broken  hillside  by  degrees,  our  walnut 
tree  tops  and  the  thread  of  the  rushing  stream;  and 
sunsets,  when  the  sun  looked  at  us  from  the  far-off  Med 
iterranean  and  touched  no  spot  of  Lebanon  but  to  make  a 
glorified  place  of  it.  With  Mr.  Dinwiddie  we  took  rides 
to  different  scenes  of  wonder  and  beauty ;  made  excur 
sions  sometimes  of  a  week  or  two  long ;  we  dreamed  at 
Baalbec  and  rejoiced  under  the  Cedars.  Everywhere 
papa  and  I  read  the  Bible.  Mr.  Dinwiddie  left  us  for 


OUT  OF   THE  SMOKE,  271 

some  time  during  the  summer,  and  returned  again  a  few 
days  before  we  left  Lebanon  and  Syria. 

'  So  you  are  going  to-morrow' —  he  said  the  last  even 
ing,  as  he  and  I  were  watching  the  sunset  from  the  edge 
of  the  ravine  which  bordered  our  camping-ground.  I 
made  no  answer,  for  my  heart  was  too  full. 

*  It  has  been  a  good  summer,5  he  said.     I  bowed  my 
head  in  assent. 

'  And  now,'  he  said,  '  you  push  out  into  the  world 
again.  I  feel  about  you  as  I  did  when  I  saw  your  little 
craft  just  starting  forth,  and  knew  there  were  breakers 
ahead.' 

*  You  do  not  know  that  now,  Mr.  Dinwiddie  ?'  I  said. 

'  I  know  there  are  rocks.  If  the  sea  should  let  you 
pass  them  in  quiet,  it  would  be  a  wonder/ 

That  was  too  true,  I  knew.     I  could  only  be  silent 

1  How  do  you  feel  ?'  he  next  asked. 

'  I  know  it  is  as  you  say,  Mr.  Dinwiddie.' 

'  And  in  view  of  it? — ' 

'What  can  I  do,  Mr.  Dinwiddie?' 

'  Nothing  to  avoid  the  rocks.  The  helm  is  not  in  your 
hand.' 

'  But  I  know  in  whose  hand  it  is.' 

*  And  are  willing  to  have  it  there  ?' 

'  More  than  willing,'  I  said,  meeting  his  eye. 

'  Then  the  boat  will  go  right,1' he  said,  with  a  sort  of 
accent  of  relief.  'It  is  the  cross  pulls  with  the  oar, 
striving  to  undo  the  work  of  the  rudder,  that  draw  the 
vessel  out  of  her  course.  The  Pilot  knows, —  if  you  can 
only  leave  it  to  the  Pilot.' 

There  was  a  pause  again. 

'  But  he  sometimes  takes  the  boat  into  the 
Mr.  Dinwiddie  said. 

'  Yes,'  I  said.     '  I  know  it.' 

'  What  then,  Daisy,  my  friend  ?' 


272  DAISY. 

'What  then,  Mr.  Dinwiddie?'  I  said  looking  up  at 
him.  '  Then  she  must  be  broken  to  pieces.' 

'  And  what  then  ?    Can  you  trust  the  Pilot  still  ?' 

His  great  eyes  were  flashing  and  glittering  as  he  looked 
at  me.  No  careless  nor  aimless  thought  had  caused  such 
an  interrogatory,  I  knew.  I  met  the  eyes  which  seemed 
to  be  blazing  and  melting  at  once,  but  I  answered  only 
by  the  look. 

'You  may,'  he  went  on,  without  taking  his  eyes  from 
mine.  'You  may  trust  safely.  Even  if  the  vessel  is 
shaken  and  broken,  trust  even  then,  when  all  seems  gone. 
There  shall  be  smooth  waters  yet ;  and  a  better  voyage 
than  if  you  had  gone  a  less  wearisome  way.' 

'  Why  do  you  say  all  this  to  me,  Mr.  Dinwiddie  ?' 

'Not  because  I  am  a  prophet,'  he  said,  looking  away 
now, — '  for  I  am  none.  And  if  I  saw  such  trials  ahead 
for  you,  I  should  have  hardly  courage  to  utter  them.  I 
asked,  to  comfort  myself;  that  I  might  know  of  a  cer 
tainty  that  you  are  safe,  whatever  comes/ 

'Thank  you,'  I  said,  rather  faintly. 

'I  shall  stay  here,'  he  went  on  presently,  'in  the  land 
of  my  work ;  and  you  will  be  gone  to-morrow  for  other 
scenes.  It  isn't  likely  you  will  ever  see  me  again.  But 
if  ever  you  need  a  friend,  on  the  other  side  of  the  globe, 
if  you  call  me,  I  will  come.  It  is  folly  to  say  that, 
though,'  he  said  plucking  hastily  at  a  spear  of  grass ; — 
'  you  will  not  need  nor  think  of  me.  But  I  suppose  you 
know,  Daisy,  by  this  time,  that  all  those  who  come  near 
you,  love  you.  I  am  no  exception.  You  must  have 
charity  for  me.' 

'  Dear  Mr.  Dinwiddie,'  I  said  reaching  out  my  hand, — 
'  if  I  were  in  trouble  and  wanted  a  friend,  there  is  no 
one  in  the  world  that  I  would  sooner,  or  rather,  or  as 
soon  or  as  lief,  ask  to  help  me.  Except — '  I  added, 
and  could  not  linish  my  sentence.  For  I  had  remem- 


OUT   OF   THE  SMOKE.  273 

bered  there  was  an  exception  which  ought  to  be  implied 
somewhere. 

1 1  know,'  he  said,  wringing  my  hand.  *  I  wish  I  could 
heap  blessings  on  the  head  of  the  exception.  Now  let  us 
go  in.' 

The  next  day  we  rode  down  to  Beyrout,  and  took  the 
steamer  that  same  evening. 

8 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

A  MASKED   BATTERY. 

MY  Palestine  holiday  lasted,  in  some  measure,  all  the 
way  of  our  journey  home ;  and  left  me  at  the  very  mo 
ment  when  we  entered  our  Parisian  hotel  and  met  mam 
ma.  It  left  me  then.  All  the  air  of  the  place,  much 
more  all  the  style  of  mamma's  dress  and  manner,  said  at 
once  that  we  had  come  into  another  world.  She  was  ex 
quisitely  dressed ;  that  was  usual ;  it  could  not  have  been 
only  that,  nor  the  dainty  appointments  around  her ;  it 
was  something  in  her  bearing,  an  indescribable  something 
even  as  she  greeted  us,  which  said,  You  have  played 
your  play — now  you  will  play  mine.  And  it  said,  I  can 
not  tell  how,  The  cards  are  in  my  hands. 

Company  engaged  her  that  evening.  I  saw  little  of 
her  till  the  next  day.  At  our  late  breakfast  then  we  dis 
cussed  many  things.  Not  much  of  Palestine;  mamma 
did  not  want  to  hear  much  of  that.  She  had  had  it  in 
our  letters,  she  said.  American  affairs  were  gone  into 
largely;  with  great  eagerness  and  bitterness  by  both 
mamma  and  Aunt  Gary ;  with  triumphs  over  the  disas 
ters  of  the  Union  army  before  Richmond,  and  other 
lesser  affairs  in  which  the  North  had  gained  no  advan 
tage  ;  invectives  against  the  President's  July  proclama 
tion,  his  impudence  and  his  cowardice;  and  prophecies 
of  ruin  to  him  and  his  cause.  Papa  listened  and  said 
little.  I  heard  and  was  silent ;  with  throbbing  forebod 
ings  of  trouble. 

274 


A    MASKED    BATTERY.  275 

'Daisy  is  handsomei  than  ever,'  my  aunt  remarked, 
when  even  politics  had  exhausted  themselves.  But  I 
wondered  what  she  was  thinking  of  when  she  said  it. 
Mamma  lifted  her  eyes  and  glanced  me  over. 

'  Daisy  has  a  rival,  newly  appeared,'  she  said.  '  She 
must  do  her  best.' 

'  There  cannot  be  rivalry,  mamma,  where  there  is  no 
competition,'  I  said. 

'Cannot  there?'  said  mamma.  'You  never  told  us, 
Daisy,  of  your  successes  in  the  North.' 

I  do  not  think  I  flushed  at  all  in  answer  to  this  re 
mark  ;  the  blood  seemed  to  me  to  go  all  to  my  heart. 

'Who  has  been  Daisy's  trumpeter?'  papa  asked. 

'  There  is  a  friend  of  hers  here,'  mamma  said,  slowly 
sipping  her  coffee.  I  do  not  know  how  I  sat  at  the  table ; 
things  seemed  to  swim  in  a  maze  before  my  eyes ;  then 
mamma  went  on, — '  What  have  you  done  with  your  vic 
tim,  Daisy?' 

'  Mamma,'  I  said,  '  I  do  not  at  all  know  of  whom  you 
are  speaking.' 

'  Left  him  for  dead,  I  suppose,'  she  said.  '  He  has  met 
with  a  good  Samaritan,  I  understand,  who  carried  oil 
and  wine.' 

Papa's  eye  met  mine  for  a  moment. 

'Felicia,'  he  said,  'you  are  speaking  very  unintelli 
gibly.  I  beg  you  will  use  clearer  language,  for  all  our 
sakes.' 

'  Daisy  understands,'  she  said. 

'  Indeed  I  do  not,  mamma.' 

'  Not  the  good  Samaritan's  part,  of  course.  That  has 
come  since  you  were  away.  But  you  knew  once  that  a 
Northern  Blue-coat  had  been  pierced  by  the  fire  of  your 
eyes  ?' 

'  Mamma,'  I  said, — '  if  you  put  it  so,  I  have  known  it 
of  more  than  one  ' 


276  DAISY. 

'Imagine  it!'  said  mamma,  with  an  indescribable 
gesture  of  lip,  which  yet  was  gracefully  slight. 

'  Imagine  what  ?'  said  papa. 

'  One  of  those  canaille  venturing  to  look  at  Daisy !' 

'  My  dear,'  said  papa,  '  pray  do  not  fail  to  remember, 
that  we  have  passed  a  large  portion  of  our  life  among 
those  whom  you  denominate  canaille,  and  who  always 
were  permitted  the  privilege  of  looking  at  us  all.  I  do 
not  recollect  that  we  felt  it  any  derogation  from  anything 
that  belonged  to  us.' 

'  Did  you  let  him  look  at  you,  Daisy  ?'  mamma  said, 
lifting  her  own  eyes  up  to  me.  'It  was  cruel  of  you.' 

'Your  friend  Miss  St.  Clair,  is  here,  Daisy,'  my  aunt 
Gary  said. 

'  My  friend !'  I  repeated. 

'  She  is  your  friend,'  said  mamma.  '  She  has  bound 
up  the  wounds  you  have  made,  Daisy,  and  saved  you 
from  being  in  the  full  sense  a  destroyer  of  human 
life.' 

'  When  did  Faustina  come  here  ?'  I  asked. 

'  She  has  been  here  a  month.     Are  you  glad  ?' 

'She  was  never  a  particular  friend  of  mine,  mamma/ 

'  You  will  love  her  now,'  said  mamma ;  and  the  con 
versation  turned.  It  had  only  filled  me  with  vague  fears. 
I  could  not  understand  it. 

I  met  Faustina  soon  in  company.  She  was  as  brilliant 
a  vision  as  I  have  often  seen ;  her  beauty  was  perfected 
in  her  womanhood,  and  was  of  that  type  which  draws  all 
eyes.  She  was  not  changed,  however ;  and  she  was  not 
changed  towards  me.  She  met  me  with  the  old  cold 
ness  ;  with  a  something  besides  which  I  could  not  fathom. 
It  gave  me  a  secret  feeling  of  uneasiness ;  I  suppose,  be 
cause  that  in  it  I  read  a  meaning  of  exultation,  a  secret 
air  of  triumph,  which,  I  could  not  tell  how  or  why, 
directed  itself  towards  me  and  gathered  about  my  head. 


A    MASKED  BATTERY.  277 

It  grew  disagreeable  to  me  to  meet  her ;  but  I  was  forced 
to  do  this  constantly.  We  never  talked  together  more 
than  a  few  words ;  but  as  we  passed  each  other,  as  our 
eyes  met  and  hers  went  from  me,  as  she  smiled  at  the 
next  opening  of  her  mouth,  I  felt  always  something  sin 
ister,  or  at  least  something  hidden,  which  took  the  shape 
of  an  advantage  gained.  I  tried  to  meet  her  with  perfect 
pleasantness,  but  it  grew  difficult.  In  my  circumstances 
I  was  very  open  to  influences  of  discouragement  or  ap 
prehension  ;  indeed  the  trouble  was  to  fight  them  off. 
This  intangible  evil  however  presently  took  shape. 

I  thought  I  had  observed  that  for  a  day  or  two  my 
father's  eyes  had  lingered  on  me  frequently  with  a  tender 
or  wistful  expression,  more  than  usual.  I  did  not  know 
what  it  meant.  Mamma  was  pushing  me  into  company 
all  this  while,  and  making  no  allusion  to  my  own  private 
affairs,  if  she  had  any  clue  to  them.  One  morning  I  had 
excused  myself  from  an  engagement  which  carried  away 
my  aunt  and  her,  that  I  might  have  a  quiet  time  to  read 
with  papa.  Our  readings  had  been  much  broken  in 
upon  lately.  With  a  glad  step  I  went  to  papa's  room ;  a 
study,  I  might  call  it,  where  he  spent  all  of  the  time  he 
did  not  wish  to  give  to  society.  He  was  there,  expecting 
me ;  a  wood-fire  was  burning  on  the  hearth ;  the  place 
had  the  air  of  comfort  and  seclusion  and  intelligent  leis 
ure;  books  and  engravings  and  works  of  art  scattered 
about,  and  luxurious  easy-chairs  standing  ready  for  the 
accommodation  of  papa  and  me. 

'This  is  nice,  papa!'  I  said,  as  the  cushions  of  one  of 
them  received  me. 

'  It  is  not  quite  the  Mount  of  Olives,'  said  papa. 

'No  indeed!'  I  answered;  and  my  eyes  filled.     The 

bustle  of  the  fashionable  world  was  all  around  me,  the 

storms  of  the   political   world   were   shaking   the  very 

ground  where  I  stood,  the  air  of  our  little  social  world 

VOL.  ii. — 24 


278  DAISY. 

was  not  as  on  Lebanon  sweet  and  pure.  When  would  it 
be  again  ?  Papa  sat  thinking  in  his  easy-chair. 

'  How  do  you  like  Paris,  my  child  ?' 

'Papa,  it  does  not  make  much  difference,  Italy  or 
Paris,  so  long  as  I  am  where  you  are,  and  we  can  have  a 
little  time  together.' 

'  Your  English  friend  has  followed  you  from  Florence/ 

'  Yes,  papa.     At  least  he  is  here.' 

*  And  your  German  friend.7 
'He  is  here,  papa.' 

There  was  a  silence.  I  wondered  what  papa  was  think 
ing  of,  but  I  did  not  speak,  for  I  saw  he  was  thinking. 

'  You  have  never  heard  from  your  American  friend  ?' 

'No,  papa.' 

'  Daisy,'  said  papa  tenderly,  and  looking  at  me  now, — 
'  you  are  strong  ?' 

'  Am  I,  papa  ?' 

'  I  think  you  are.  You  can  bear  the  truth,  cannot 
you?' 

*  I  hope  I  can, — any  truth  that  you  have  to  tell  me,' 
I  said.     One  thought  of  terrible  evil  chilled  my  heart 
for  a  moment,  and  passed  away.     Papa's  tone  and  man 
ner  did  not  touch  anything  like  that.     Though  it  was 
serious  enough  to  awrake  my  apprehension.     I  could  not 
guess  what  to  apprehend. 

'  Did  you  get  any  clear  understanding  of  what  your 
mother  might  mean,  one  day  at  breakfast,  when  she  was 
alluding  to  friends  of  yours  in  America? — you  remem 
ber?' 

'I  remember.  I  did  not  understand  in  the  least, 
papa.' 

'  It  had  to  do  with  Miss  St.  Glair.' 

'Yes.' 

'  It  seems  she  spent  all  the  last  winter  in  Washington, 
where  the  society  was  unusually  good,  it  is  said,  as  well 


A   MASKED  BATTERY.  279 

as  unusually  military.  I  do  not  know  how  that  can  be 
true,  when  all  Southerners  were  of  course  out  of  the  city 
— but  that's  no  matter.  A  girl  like  this  St.  Clair  girl  of 
course  knew  all  the  epaulettes  there  were.' 

'  Yes,  papa — she  is  always  very  much  admired.  She 
must  be  that  everywhere/ 

'I  suppose  so,  though  I  don't  like  her/  said  papa. 
'Well,  Daisy, — I  do  not  know  how  to  tell  you.  She 
knew  your  friend.' 

*  Yes,  papa.' 

*  And  he  admired  her.' 

I  was  silent,  wondering  what  all  this  was  coming  to. 

'  Do  you  understand  me,  Daisy  ? — She  has  won  him 
from  you.' 

A  feeling  of  sickness  passed  over  me ;  it  did  not  last. 
One  vision  of  my  beautiful  enemy,  one  image  of  her  as 
Mr.  Thorold's  friend, — it  made  me  sick  for  that  instant ; 
then,  I  believe  I  looked  up  and  smiled. 

'Papa,  it  is  not  true,  I  think.' 

'It  is  well  attested,  Daisy.' 

'  By  whom  ?' 

'  By  a  friend  of  Miss  St.  Clair,  who  was  with  her  in 
Washington  and  knew  the  whole  progress  of  the  affair, 
and  testifies  to  their  being  engaged.' 

'  To  whose  being  engaged,  papa  ?' 

'  Miss  St.  Clair  and  your  friend, — Col.  Somebody.  I 
forget  his  name,  Daisy,  though  you  told  me,  I  believe.' 

'  He  was  not  a  colonel,  papa ;  not  at  all ;  not  near  it.' 

'No.  He  has  been  promoted,  I  understand.  Pro 
motions  are  rapid  in  the  Northern  army  now-a-days ;  a 
lieutenant  in  the  regulars  is  transformed  easily  into  a 
colonel  of  volunteers.  They  want  more  officers  than  they 
have  got,  I  suppose.' 

I  remained  silent,  thinking. 

'  Who  told  you  all  this,  papa  ?' 


280  DAISY. 

'  Your  mother.  She  has  it  direct  from  the  friend  of 
your  rival.' 

'  But,  papa,  nobody  knew  about  me.  It  was  kept  en 
tirely  private/ 

'Not  after  you  came  away,  I  suppose.  How  else 
should  this  story  be  told  as  of  the  gentleman  you  were 
engaged  to  /' 

I  waited  a  little  while,  to  get  my  voice  steady,  and 
then  I  went  on  with  my  reading  to  papa.  Once  he  inter 
rupted  me  to  say,  '  Daisy,  how  do  you  take  this  that  I 
have  beefl  telling  you?' — and  at  the  close  of  our  reading 
he  asked  again  in  a  perplexed  mariner,  *  You  do  not  let 
it  trouble  you,  Daisy  ?' — and  each  time  I  answered  him, 
*I  do  not  believe  it,  papa.'  Neither  did  I;  but  at  the 
same  time  a  dreadful  shadow  of  possibility  came  over  my 
spirit.  I  could  not  get  from  under  it,  and  my  soul 
fainted,  as  those  were  said  to  do  who  lay  down  for  shelter 
under  the  upas  tree.  A  poison  as  of  death  seemed  to  distil 
upon  me  from  that  shadow.  Not  let  it  trouble  me  ?  It 
was  a  man's  question,  I  suppose,  put  with  a  man's  power- 
lessness  to  read  a  woman's  mind ;  even  though  the  man 
was  my  father. 

I  noticed  from  that  time  more  than  ever  his  tender 
lingering  looks  upon  me,  wistful,  and  doubtful.  It  was 
hard  to  bear  them,  and  I  would  not  confess  to  them.  I 
would  not  and  did  not  shew  by  look  or  word  that  I  put 
faith  in  the  story  my  father  had  brought  me,  or  that  I 
had  lost  faith  in  any  one  who  had  ever  commanded  it. 
Indeed  I  did  not  believe  the  story.  I  did  trust  Mr.  Thor- 
old.  Nevertheless  the  cold  chill  of  a  "What  if  ?"— fell 
upon  me  sometimes.  Could  I  say  that  it  was  an  impos 
sibility,  that  he  should  have  turned  from  me,  from  one 
whom  such  a  thorn  hedge  of  difficulties  encompassed,  to 
another  woman  so  much, — I  was  going  to  say,  so  much 
more  beautiful ;  but  I  do  not  mean  that,  for  I  do  not 


A  MASKED  BATTERY.  281 

think  it.  No,  but  to  one  whose  beauty  was  so  brilliant 
and  whose  hand  was  so  attainable  ?  It  would  not  be  an 
impossibility  in  the  case  of  many  men.  Yes,  I  trusted 
Mr.  Thorold ;  but  so  had  other  women  trusted.  A  wo 
man's  trust  is  not  a  guarantee  for  the  worthiness  of  its 
object.  I  had  only  my  trust  and  my  knowledge.  Could 
I  say  that  both  might  not  be  mistaken  ?  And  trust  as  I 
would,  these  thoughts  would  rise. 

Now  it  was  very  hard  for  me  to  meet  Faustina  St.  Clair, 
and  bear  the  supercilious  air  of  confident  triumph  with 
which  she  regarded  me.  I  think  nobody  could  have  ob 
served  this  or  read  it  but  myself  only ;  its  tokens  were 
too  exceedingly  slight  and  inappreciable  for  anything  but 
the  tension  of  my  own  heart  to  feel.  I  always  felt  it, 
whenever  we  were  in  company  together ;  and  though  I 
always  said  at  such  times,  '  Christian  cannot  love  her/ — 
when  I  was  at  home  and  alone  the  shadow  of  doubt  and 
jealousy  came  over  me  again.  Everything  withers  in 
that  shadow.  A  woman  must  either  put  it  out  of  her 
heart,  somehow,  or  grow  a  diseased  and  sickly  thing, 
mentally  and  morally.  I  found  that  I  was  coming  to 
this  in  my  own  mind  and  character ;  and  that  brought 
me  to  a  stand. 

I  shut  myself  up  one  or  two  nights — I  could  not  com 
mand  my  days — and  spent  the  whole  night  in  thinking 
and  praying.  Two  things  were  before  me.  The  story 
might  be  somehow  untrue.  Time  would  shew.  In  the 
meanwhile,  nothing  but  trust  would  have  done  honour  to 
Mr.  Thorold  or  to  myself.  I  thought  it  was  untrue.  But 
suppose  it  were  not, — suppose  that  the  joy  of  my  life  were 
gone,  passed  over  to  another;  who  had  done  it?  By 
whose  will  was  my  life  stripped  ?  The  false  faith  or  the 
weakness  of  friend  or  enemy  could  not  have  wrought 
thus,  if  it  had  not  been  the  will  of  God  that  his  child 
should  be  so  tried ;  that  she  should  go  through  just  this 
24* 


282  DAISY. 

sorrow,  for  some  great  end  or  reason  known  only  to  him 
self.  Could  I  not  trust  him  ? 

If  there  is  a  vulture  whose  claws  are  hard  to  unloose 
from  the  vitals  of  the  spirit,  I  think  it  is  jealousy.  I 
found  it  had  got  hold  of  me,  and  was  tearing  the  life 
out  of  me.  I  knew  it  in  time.  O  sing  praise  to  our  King, 
you  who  know  him !  he  is  mightier  than  our  enemies ; 
we  need  not  be  the  prey  of  any.  But  I  struggled  and 
prayed,  more  than  one  night  through,  before  faith  could 
gain  the  victory.  Then  it  did.  I  gave  the  matter  into 
my  Lord's  hands.  If  he  had  decreed  that  I  was  to  lose 
Mr.  Thorold,  and  in  this  way, — why,  I  was  my  Lord's, 
to  do  with  as  he  pleased ;  it  would  all  be  wise  and  glori 
ous,  and  kind  too,  whatever  he  did.  I  would  just  leave 
that.  But  in  the  mean  time,  till  I  knew  that  he  had  taken 
my  joy  from  me,  I  would  not  believe  it;  but  would  go  on 
trusting  the  friend  I  had  believed  so  deserving  of  trust. 
I  would  believe  in  Mr.  Thorold  still  and  be  quiet,  till  I 
knew  my  confidence  was  misplaced. 

It  was  thoroughly  done  at  last.  I  gave  up  myself  to 
God  again  and  my  affairs ;  and  the  rest  that  is  unknown 
anywhere  else,  came  to  me  at  his  feet.  I  gave  up  being 
jealous  of  Faustina.  If  the  Lord  pleased  that  she  should 
have  what  had  been  so  precious  to  me,  why  well !  I  gave 
it  up.  But  not  till  I  was  sure  I  had  cause. 

What  a  lull  came  upon  my  harassed  and  tossed  spirit, 
which  had  been  like  a  stormy  sea  under  cross  winds. 
Now  it  lay  still,  and  could  catch  the  reflection  of  the  sun 
again  and  the  blue  of  heaven.  I  could  go  into  society 
now  and  please  mamma,  and  read  at  home  to  papa  and 
give  him  the  wonted  gratification  ;  and  I  could  meet 
Faustina  with  an  open  brow  and  a  free  hand. 

'  Daisy,  you  are  better  this  day  or  two/  papa  said  to 
me  wistfully.  *  You  are  like  yourself.  What  is  it,  my 
child?' 


A   MASKED  BATTERY.  283 

'  It  is  Christ,  my  Lord,  papa/ 

'I  do  not  know  what  you  can  mean  by  that,  Daisy,' 
said  papa,  looking  grave.  '  You  are  not  an  enthusiast  or 
a  fanatic.' 

'  It  is  not  enthusiasm,  papa,  to  believe  God's  promises. 
It  can't  be  fanaticism,  to  be  glad  of  them.' 

1  Promises  ?'  said  papa.     '  What  are  you  talking  of?' 

*  Papa,  I  am  a  servant  of  Christ,'  I  said ;  I  remember 
I  was  arranging  the  sticks  of  wood  on  the  fire  as  I  spoke, 
and  it  made  pauses  between  my  words ; — '  and  he  has 
promised  to  take  care  of  his  servants  and  to  let  no  harm 
come  to  them, — no  real  harm ; — how  can  I  be  afraid, 
papa  ?    My  Lord  knows, — he  knows  all  about  it  and  all 
about  me;    I   am  safe;    I  have  nothing  to  do   to  be 
afraid.' 

'Safe  from  what?' 

*  Not  from  trouble,  papa ;  I  do  not  mean  that.     He 
may  see  that  it  is  best  that  trouble  should  come  to  me. 
But  it  will  not  come  unless  he  sees  that  it  is  best ;  and  I 
can  trust  him.' 

'  My  dear  child,  is  there  not  a  little  fanaticism  there  ?' 

'How,  papa?' 

'It  seems  to  me  to  sound  like  it.' 

'  It  is  nothing  but  believing  God,  papa.' 

'  I  wish  I  understood  you,'  said  papa  thoughtfully. 

So  I  knelt  down  beside  him  and  put  my  arms  about 
him,  and  told  him  what  I  wanted  him  to  understand ; 
much  more  than  I  had  ever  been  able  to  do  before.  The 
pain  and  sorrow  of  the  past  few  weeks  had  set  me  free, 
and  the  rest  of  heart  of  the  last  few  days  too.  I  told  papa 
all  about  it.  I  think,  as  Philip  did  to  Queen  Candace'a 
servant,  I  "preached  to  him  Jesus." 

'  So  that  is  what  you  mean  by  being  a  Christian,'  said 
papa  at  last.  '  It  is  not  living  a  good  moral  life  and 
keeping  all  one's  engagements.' 


284  DAISY. 

'  "  By  the  deeds  of  the  law  there  shall  no  flesh  be  jus 
tified."  Even  you,  papa,  are  not  good  enough  for  that. 
God's  law  calls  for  perfection.' 

'  Nobody  is  perfect.' 

*  No,  papa ;  and  so  all  have  come  short  of  the  glory  of 
God.' 

'  Well  then,  I  don't  see  what  you  are  going  to  do, 
Daisy.' 

'  Christ  has  paid  our  debt,  papa. ' 

'  Then  nobody  need  do  anything.' 

'O  no,  papa;  for  the  free  pardon  that  is  made  out 
for  you  and  me — the  white  robe  that  Christ  counsels 
us  to  buy  of  him — waits  for  our  acceptance  and  is 
given  only  on  conditions.  It  is  ready  for  every  one 
who  will  trust  Christ  and  obey  him  ;  a  free  pardon,  papa ; 
a  white  robe  that  will  hide  all  our  ugliness.  But  we 
must  be  willing  to  have  it  on  the  conditions.' 

'  And  how  then,  Daisy  ?' 

'  Why  this  way,  papa.  See, — I  am  dead  with  Christ ; 
it  is  as  if  I  myself  had  died  under  the  law,  instead  of  my 
substitute ;  the  penalty  is  paid,  and  the  law  has  nothing 
to  say  to  a  dead  malefactor,  you  know,  papa.  And  now, 
I  am  dead  to  the  law,  and  my  life  is  Christ's.  I  live  be 
cause  he  lives,  and  by  his  Spirit  living  in  me ;  all  I  am 
and  have  belongs  to  Christ ;  the  life  that  I  live,  I  live 
by  the  faith  of  the  Son  of  God,  who  loved  me  and  gave 
himself  for  me.  I  am  not  trying  to  keep  the  law,  to  buy 
my  life ;  but  I  am  keeping  the  law,  because  Christ  has 
given  me  life — do  you  see,  papa  ?  and  all  my  life  is  love 
to  him.' 

'  It  seems  to  me,  Daisy,'  said  papa, '  that  if  faith  is  all, 
people  may  lead  what  lives  they  choose.' 

'Papa,  the  faith  that  believes  in  Christ,  loves  and 
obeys  him;  or  it  is  just  no  faith.  It  is  nothing.  It  is 
dead.' 


A   MASKED  BATTERY.  285 

'  And  faith  makes  such  a  change  in  people's  feelings 
and  lives  ?' 

'  Why  yes,  papa,  for  then  they  live  by  Christ's  strength 
and  not  their  own ;  and  in  the  love  of  him,  and  not  in 
the  love  of  themselves  any  longer.' 

'Daisy/  said  papa,  'it  is  something  I  do  not  know, 
and  I  see  that  you  do  know ;  and  I  would  like  to  be  like 
you  anyhow.  Pray  for  me,  my  child,  that  I  may  have 
that  faith.' 

I  had  never  done  it  in  his  presence  before,  but  now  I 
knelt  down  by  the  table  and  uttered  all  my  heart  to  the 
One  who  could  hear  us  both.  I  could  not  have  done  it, 
I  think,  a  few  weeks  earlier ;  but  this  last  storm  had 
seemed  to  shake  me  free  from  everything.  What  mat 
tered,  if  I  could  only  help  to  shew  papa  the  way  ?  He 
was  weeping,  I  think,  while  I  was  praying ;  I  thought  he 
sought  to  hide  the  traces  of  it  when  I  rose  up ;  and  I  went 
from  the  room  with  a  gladness  in  my  heart  that  said, 
'  What  if,  even  if  Thorold  is  lost  to  me !  There  is  some 
thing  better  beyond.' 

Papa  and  I  seemed  to  walk  on  a  new  plane  from  that 
day.  There  was  a  hidden  sympathy  between  us,  which 
had  its  root  in  the  deepest  ground  of  our  nature.  We 
never  had  been  one  before,  as  wre  were  one  from  that 
time. 

It  was  but  a  few  days,  and  another  thing  happened. 
The  mail  bag  had  come  in  as  usual,  and  I  had  gathered 
up  my  little  parcel  of  letters  and  gone  with  it  to  my  room, 
before  I  examined  what  they  were.  A  letter  evidently 
from  Mr.  Dinwiddie  had  just  made  my  heart  leap  with 
pleasure,  when  glancing  at  the  addresses  of  the  rest  before 
I  broke  the  seal  of  this,  I  saw  what  made  my  heart  stand 
still.  It  was  the  handwriting  of  Mr.  Thorold.  I  think 
my  eyes  grew  dim  and  dazed  for  a  minute ;  then  I  saw 
clearly  enough  to  open  the  envelope,  which  shewed  signs 


286  DAISY. 

of  having  been  a  traveller.     There  was  a  letter  for  me 
such  a  letter  as  I  had  wanted;  such  as  I  had  thirsted  for; 
it  was  not  long,  for  it  was  written  by  a  busy  man,  but  it 
was  long  enough,  for  it  satisfied   my  thirst.     Enclosed 
with  it  was  another  envelope  directed  to  papa. 

I  waited  to  get  calm  again ;  for  the  joy  which  shot 
through  all  my  veins  was  a  kind  of  elixir  of  life ;  it  pro 
duced  too  much  exhilaration  for  me  to  dare  to  see  any 
body.  Yet  I  think  I  was  weeping ;  but  at  any  rate,  I 
waited  till  my  nerves  were  quiet  and  under  control,  and 
then  I  went  with  the  letter  to  papa.  I  knew  mamma 
was  just  gone  out  and  there  was  no  fear  of  interruption. 
Papa  read  the  letter,  and  read  it,  and  looked  up  at  me. 

'  Do  you  know  what  this  is,  Daisy?' 

'  Papa,  I  guess.     I  know  what  it  was  meant  to  be/ 

'  It  is  a  cool  demand  of  you/  said  papa. 

I  was  glad,  and  proud ;  that  was  what  it  ought  to  be ; 
that  was  what  I  knew  it  suited  papa  that  it  should  be. 
I  stood  by  the  mantelpiece,  waiting. 

'  So  you  knew  about  it  ?' 

*  Mr.  Thorold  said  he  would  write  to  you,  papa.  I  had 
been  afraid,  and  asked  him  not.  I  wanted  him  to  wait 
till  he  could  see  you.' 

'One  sees  a  good  deal  of  a  man  in  his  letters,'  said 
papa ;  '  and  this  is  a  man's  letter.  He  thinks  enough  of 
himself,  Daisy.' 

'Papa, — not  too  much.' 

'  I  did  not  say  too  much  ;  but  enough  ;  and  a  man  who 
does  not  think  enough  of  himself  is  a  poor  creature.  I 
would  not  have  a  man  ask  me  for  you,  Daisy,  who  did 
not  in  his  heart  think  he  was  worthy  of  you.' 

'  Papa  you  draw  nice  distinctions,'  I  said  half  laughing. 

'That  would  be  simple  presumption,  not  modesty; 
this  is  manliness.' 

We  were  both  silent  upon  this ;  papa  considering  the 


A   MASKED  BATTERY.  287 

letter,  or  its  proposal ;  I  thinking  of  Mr.  Thorold's  man 
liness,  and  feeling  very  much  pleased  that  he  had  shewn 
it  and  papa  had  discerned  it  so  readily.  The  silence 
lasted  till  I  began  to  be  curious. 

1  What  shall  we  do  now,  Daisy  ?'  papa  said  at  last. 

1  left  him  to  answer  his  own  question. 

'  Hey  ?     What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  ?' 

'  Papa, — I  hope  you  will  give  him  a  kind  answer.' 

'  How  can  I  get  it  to  him  ?' 

'  I  can  enclose  it  to  an  aunt  of  his,  whom  I  know. 
She  can  get  it  to  him.  She  lives  in  New  York.' 

'  His  aunt  ?     So  you  know  his  family  ?' 

'No  one  of  them,  papa,  but  this  one;  his  mother's 
sister.' 

'  What  sort  of  a  person  is  she  ?' 

So  I  sat  down  and  told  papa  about  Miss  Cardigan. 
He  listened  with  a  very  grave,  thoughtful  face ;  asking 
few  questions,  but  kissing  me.  And  then,  without  more 
ado,  he  turned  to  the  table  and  wrote  a  letter,  writing 
very  fast,  and  handed  it  to  me.  It  was  all  I  could  have 
asked  that  it  might  be.  My  heart  filled  with  grateful 
rest. 

'  Will  that  do  ?'  said  papa  as  I  gave  it  back. 

'  Papa,  only  one  thing  more, — if  you  are  willing,  that 
we  should  sometimes  write  to  each  other  ?' 

'Hm — that  sounds  moderate,'  said  papa.  'By  the 
way,  why  was  not  this  letter  written  and  sent  sooner? 
What  is  the  date  ? — why,  Daisy ! — ' 

'What,  papa?' 

'My  child,  this  letter, — it  is  a  good  year  old,  and 
more;  written  in  the  beginning  of  last  winter.' 

It  took  me  a  little  while  to  get  the  full  bearings  of 
this ;  then  I  saw  that  it  dated  back  to  a  time  quite  ante 
rior  to  the  circumstances  of  Faustina  St.  Glair's  story, 
whatever  that  amounted  to.  Papa  was  all  thrown  back. 


288  DAISY. 

1  This  is  good  for  nothing,  now,  you  see,  Daisy.' 

'O  no,  papa.' 

'  For  the  purposes  of  action.' 

*  Papa,  it  does  not  matter,  the  date.' 

'  Yes,  Daisy,  it  does ;  for  it  speaks  of  a  man  of  last 
year,  and  my  answer  would  go  to  a  man  of  this  year.' 

'  They  are  not  different  men,  papa.' 

'  I  must  be  assured  of  that.'  He  was  folding  up  his 
letter,  his  own,  and  I  saw  the  next  thing  would  be  to 
throw  it  into  the  fire.  I  laid  my  hand  over  his. 

'  Papa,  don't  do  that.     Let  me  have  it.' 

'I  cannot  send  it.' 

'  Papa,  let  me  have  it.  I  will  send  it  to  Miss  Cardi 
gan — she  loves  me  almost  as  well  as  you  do — I  will  tell 
her ;  and  if  there  is  any  truth  in  mamma's  story,  Miss 
Cardigan  will  know  and  she  will  burn  the  letter,  just  as 
well  as  you.  And  so  you  would  escape  doing  a  great 
wrong.' 

1  You  may  be  mistaken,  my  child.' 

1  Then  Miss  Cardigan  will  burn  the  letter,  papa.  I 
can  trust  her.' 

'  Can  /  trust  her?' 

'Yes,  papa,  through  me.  Please  let  me  have  it. 
There  shall  come  no  harm  from  this,  papa.' 

'  Daisy,  your  mother  says  he  is  engaged  to  this  girl.' 

'  It  is  a  mistake,  papa.' 

'  You  cannot  prove  it,  my  child.' 

'  Time  will.' 

'Then  will  be  soon  enough  for  my  action.' 

'But  papa,  in  the  mean  time? — think  of  the  months 
he  has  been  waiting  already  for  an  answer — ' 

I  suppose  the  tears  were  in  my  eyes,  as  I  pleaded, 
with  my  hand  still  upon  papa's  hand;  covering  the 
papers.  He  slowly  drew  his  hand  away,  leaving  the 
letter  under  mine. 


A   MASKED  BATTERY.  289 

'  Well !'— said  he,— '  do  as  you  will.1 

'  You  are  not  unwilling,  papa  ?' 

'I  am  a  little  unwilling,  Daisy;  but  I  cannot  deny 
you,  child.  I  hope  you  are  right.' 

'  Then  papa,  add  that  one  word  about  letters,  will  you  ?' 

'  And  if  it  is  all  undeserved  ?' 

'  It  is  not,  papa.' 

Papa  set  his  teeth  for  a  moment,  with  a  look  which 
however  wonted  perhaps  in  his  youthful  days,  I  had  very 
rarely  seen  called  up  in  him.  It  passed  then,  and  he 
wrote  the  brief  word  I  had  asked  for,  of  addition  to  his 
letter,  and  gave  it  to  me ;  and  then  took  me  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  me  again. 

'  You  are  not  very  wise  in  the  world,  my  Daisy,'  he 
said;  'and  men  would  say  I  am  not.  But  I  cannot 
deny  you.  Guard  your  letter  to  Miss  Cardigan.  And 
for  the  present  all  this  matter  shall  sleep  in  our  own 
bosoms.' 

'Papa,'  I  asked,  'how  much  did  mamma  know — I 
mean — how  much  did  she  hear  about  me  that  was  true  ?' 

'  It  was  reported  that  you  had  been  engaged.' 

'She  heard  that.' 

'Yes/ 

'She  has  never  spoken  about  it.' 

'She  thinks  it  not  necessary.' 

I  was  silent  a  moment,  pondering,  as  well  I  might; 
but  then  I  kissed  papa  and  thanked  him,  and  went  off 
and  wrote  and  posted  my  letter  with  its  enclosure.     Suf 
ficient  to  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof. 
VOL.  ii.— 25  T 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

ONE     FALLEN. 

I  SENT  my  letter,  and  waited.  I  got  no  answer.  The 
weeks  rolled  on,  and  the  months.  It  was  palpable,  that 
delays  which  had  kept  back  one  letter  for  a  year  might 
affect  the  delivery  of  another  letter  in  the  same  way ;  but 
it  is  hard,  the  straining  one's  eyes  into  thick  darkness 
with  the  vain  endeavour  to  see  something. 

The  months  were  outwardly  gay ;  very  full  of  society 
life,  though  not  of  the  kind  that  I  cared  for.  I  went  into 
it  to  please  mamma ;  and  succeeded  but  partially ;  for 
she  insisted  I  was  too  sober  and  did  not  half  take  the 
French  tone  of  easy,  light,  graceful  skimming  over  the 
surface  of  things.  But  mamma  could  be  deep  and  ear 
nest  too  on  her  own  subjects  of  interest.  The  news  of 
President  Lincoln's  proclamation,  setting  free  the  slaves 
of  the  rebel  States,  roused  her  as  much  as  she  could  be 
roused.  There  were  no  terms  to  her  speech  or  my  aunt 
Gary's;  violent  and  angry  against  not  only  the  Presi 
dent,  but  everything  and  everybody  that  shared  North 
ern  growth  and  extraction.  How  bitterly  they  sneered 
at  "Massachusetts  codfish;" — I  think  nothing  would 
have  induced  either  of  them  to  touch  it ;  and  whatsoever 
belonged  to  the  East  or  the  North,  not  only  meats  and 
drinks  but  Yankee  spirit  and  manners  and  courage,  were 
all,  figuratively,  put  under  foot  and  well  trampled  on.  I 
listened  and  trembled,  sometimes;  sometimes  I  listened 
and  rejoiced.  For  after  all,  my  own  affairs  were  not  the 

290 


ONE  FALLEN.  291 

whole  world;  and  a  thrill  of  inexpressible  joy  went 
through  me  when  I  remembered  that  my  old  Maria,  and 
Pete,  and  the  Jems,  and  Dairy,  were  all,  by  law,  freed 
for  ever  from  the  oppression  of  Mr.  Edwards  and  any  like 
him ;  and  that  the  day  of  their  actual  emancipation  would 
come,  so  soon  as  the  rights  of  the  Government  should  be 
established  over  the  South.  And  of  this  issue  I  began  to 
be  a  little  hopeful,  beginning  to  believe  that  it  might  be 
possible.  Antietam  and  Corinth,  and  Fredricksburg  and 
New  Orleans,  with  varying  fortune,  had  at  least  pro 
claimed  to  my  ear  that  Yankees  could  fight ;  there  was 
no  doubt  of  that  now ;  and  Southern  prowess  could  not 
always  prevail  against  theirs.  Papa  ceased  to  question 
it,  I  noticed ;  though  mamma's  sneers  grew  'more  intense 
as  the  occasion  for  them  grew  less  and  less  obvious. 

The  winter  passed,  and  the  spring  came ;  and  moved 
on  with  its  sweet  step  of  peace,  as  it  does  even  when  men's 
hearts  are  all  at  war.  The  echo  of  the  battlefields  of 
Virginia  swept  through  the  Boulevards  with  me  often ; 
and  it  thundered  at  home.  Mamma  had  burst  into  new 
triumph  at  the  news  of  Chancellorsville ;  and  uttered 
with  great  earnestness  her  wish  that  Jefferson  Davis 
might  be  able  to  execute  the  threat  of  his  proclamation 
and  hang  Gen.  Butler.  But  for  me,  I  got  no  letter;  and 
these  echoes  began  to  sound  in  my  ear  like  the  distant 
outside  rumblings  of  the  storm  to  one  whose  hearthstone 
it  has  already  swept  and  laid  desolate.  I  was  not  deso 
late  ;  yet  I  began  to  listen  as  one  whose  ears  were  dim 
with  listening.  I  met  Faustina  St.  Clair  again  with 
uneasiness.  Not  the  torment  of  my  former  jealousy ;  but 
a  stir  of  doubt  and  pain  which  I  could  not  repress  at  the 
sight  of  her. 

When  the  summer  drew  on,  to  my  great  pleasure  we 
went  to  Switzerland  again.  We  established  ourselves 
quietly  at  Lucerne,  which  papa  was  very  fond  of.  There 


292  DAISY. 

We  were  much  more  quiet  than  we  had  been  the  fall 
oefore ;  Ransom  having  gone  home  now  to  take  his  share 
in  the  struggle,  and  our  two  Southern  friends  who  had 
also  gone,  having  no  successors  like  them  in  our  little 
home  circle.  We  made  not  so  many  and  not  so  long  ex 
cursions.  But  papa  and  I  had  good  time  for  our  read 
ings  ;  and  I  had  always  a  friend  with  whom  I  could  take 
counsel,  in  the  grand  old  Mont  Pilatte.  What  a  friend 
that  mountain  was  to  me,  to  be  sure!  When  I  was 
downhearted,  and  when  anything  made  me  glad ;  when 
I  was  weary  and  when  I  was  most  full  of  life ;  its  grand 
head  in  the  skies  told  me  of  truth  and  righteousness  and 
strength ;  the  light  and  colours  that  played  and  rested 
there,  as  it  held  the  sun's  beams  and  gave  them  back  to 
earth,  were  a  sort  of  promise  to  me  of  beauty  and  life 
above  and  beyond  this  earth ;  yes,  and  of  its  substantial 
existence  now,  even  when  we  do  not  see  it.  They  were  a 
little  hint  of  what  we  do  not  see.  I  do  not  exactly  know 
what  was  the  language  of  the  wreaths  of  vapour  that 
robed  and  shrouded  and  then  revealed  the  mountain, 
with  the  exquisite  shiftings  and  changings  of  their  grace 
fulness;  I  believe  it  was  like,  to  me,  the  floating  veil 
that  hides  God's  purposes  from  us,  yet  now  and  then 
parting  enough  to  let  us  see  the  eternal  truth  and  un- 
changeableness  behind  it.  I  told  all  my  moods  to  Mont 
Pilatte,  and  I  think  it  told  all  its  moods  to  me.  After 
a  human  friend,  there  is  nothing  like  a  big  mountain. 
And  when  the  news  of  Gettysburg  and  Vicksburg  came ; 
and  mamma  grew  furious ;  and  I  saw  for  the  first  time 
that  success  was  truly  looming  up  on  the  horizon  of  the 
North  and  that  my  dear  coloured  people  might  indeed 
soon  be  free ;  that  night  Mont  Pilatte  and  I  shouted 
together. 

There  came  no  particular  light  on  my  own  affairs  all 
this  time.     Indeed  mamma  began  to  reproach  me  for 


ONE   FALLEN.  293 

what  she  called  my  disloyal  and  treacherous  sentiments. 
And  then,  hints  began  to  break  out,  very  hard  to  bear, 
that  I  had  indulged  in  traitorous  alliances  and  was  an 
unworthy  child  of  my  house.  It  rankled  in  mamma's 
mind,  that  I  had  not  only  refused  the  connection  with 
one  of  the  two  powerful  Southern  families  which  had 
sought  me  the  preceding  year ;  but  that  I  had  also  discour 
aged  and  repelled  during  the  past  winter  several  addresses 
which  might  have  been  made  very  profitable  to  my  country 
as  well  as  my  own  interests.  For  what  had  I  rejected 
them  all?  mamma  began  to  ask  discontentedly.  Papa 
shielded  me  a  little ;  but  I  felt  that  the  sky  was  grow 
ing  dark  around  me  with  the  coming  storm. 

One  never  knows,  after  all,  where  the  first  bolt  will 
come  from.  Mine  struck  me  all  unawares,  while  I  was 
looking  in  an  opposite  quarter.  It  is  hard  to  write  it. 
A  day  came,  that  I  had  a  father  in  the  morning,  and  at 
night,  none. 

It  was  very  sudden.  He  had  been  feeble,  to  be  sure, 
more  than  usual,  for  several  days,  but  nobody  appre 
hended  anything.  Towards  evening  he  failed  suddenly ; 
sent  for  me,  and  died  in  my  arms,  blessing  me.  Yes,  we 
had  been  walking  the  same  road  together  for  some  time. 
I  was  only  left  to  go  on  awhile  longer  alone. 

But  Mont  Pilatte  said  to  me  that  night,  "  There  re- 
maineth  a  rest  for  the  people  of  God."  And  while  the 
moon  went  down  and  the  stars  slowly  trooped  over  the 
head  of  the  mountain,  I  heard  that  utterance,  and  those 

words  of  the  hymn — 

"  God  liveth  ever : 
"Wherefore,  soul,  despair  thou  never." 

I  could  go  no  -farther.  I  could  think  no  more.  Kneel 
ing  at  my  window-sill,  under  the  starry  night,  my  soul 
held  to  those  two  things  and  did  not  loose  its  moorings. 
It  is  a  great  deal,  to  hold  fast.  It  was  all  then  I  could 

25* 


294  DAISY. 

do.  And  even  in  the  remembrance  now  of  the  loneliness 
and  desolate  feeling  that  came  upon  me  at  that  time,  there 
is  also  a  strong  sense  of  the  deep  sweetness  which  I  was 
conscious  of,  rather  than  able  to  taste,  coming  from 
those  words  and  resting  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 

I  was  in  some  measure  drawn  out  of  myself,  almost 
immediately,  by  the  illness  of  my  mother.  She  fell  into 
a  nervous  disordered  condition,  which  it  taxed  all  my 
powers  to  tend  and  soothe.  I  think  it  was  mental 
rather  than  bodily,  in  the  origin  of  it ;  but  body  and 
mind  shared  in  the  result,  as  usual.  And  when  she 
got  better  and  was  able  to  sit  up  and  even  to  go  about 
again,  she  remained  under  the  utmost  despondency. 
Affairs  were  not  looking  well  for  the  Southern  struggle 
in  America ;  and  besides  the  mortification  of  her  political 
affections,  mamma  was  very  sure  that  if  the  South  could 
not  succeed  in  establishing  its  independence,  we  should  as 
a  family  be  ruined. 

1  We  are  ruined  now,  Daisy,'  she  said.  '  There  can  be 
nothing  coming  from  our  Magnolia  estates — '•and  our 
Virginia  property  is  a  mere  battle  ground,  you  know ; 
and  what  have  we  to  live  upon  ?' 

'Mamma,  there  will  be  some  way,'  I  said.  'I  have 
not  thought  about  it.' 

'No,  you  do  not  think  but  of  your  own  favourite 
speculations.  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  you  had  never 
taken  to  fanatical  ways.  I  have  no  comfort  in  you.' 

'  What  do  you  mean  by  fanaticism,  mamma  ?' 

'I  will  tell  you!'  replied  mamma  with  energy.  'The 
essence  of  fanaticism  is  to  have  your  own  way.' 

'  I  do  not  think,  mamma,  that  I  want  to  have  my  own 
way.' 

'  Of  course,  when  you  have  it.  That  is  what  such 
people  always  say.  They  don't  want  to  have  their  own 
way.  I  do  not  want  to  have  mine,  either.' 


ONE  FALLEN.  295 

'  Is  not  Dr.  Sandford  attending  to  our  affairs  for  us, 
mamma  ?' 

'I  do  not  know.  Your  father  trusted  him,  unac 
countably.  I  do  not  know  what  he  is  doing.' 

'  He  will  certainly  do  anything  that  can  be  done  for 
us,  mamma;  I  am  persuaded  of  that.  And  he  knows 
how.' 

*Is  it  for  your  sake,  Daisy?'  mamma  said  suddenly 
and  with  a  glitter  in  her  eye  which  boded  confusion  to 
the  doctor. 

'  I  do  not  know,  mamma,'  I  said  quietly.  '  He  was 
always  very  good  and  very  kind  to  me.' 

'I  suppose  you  are  not  quite  a  fool,'  she  said,  calming 
down  a  little.  '  And  a  Yankee  doctor  would  hardly  lose 
his  senses  enough  to  fall  in  love  with  you.  Though  I 
believe  the  Yankees  are  the  most  impudent  nation  upon 
the  earth.  I  wish  Butler  could  be  hanged!  I  should 
like  to  know  that  was  done  before  I  die.' 

I  fled  from  this  turn  of  the  talk  always. 

It  was  true,  however  brought  about  I  do  not  know, 
that  Dr.  Sandford  had  been  for  some  time  kindly  bestir 
ring  himself  to  look  after  our  interests  at  home,  which  the 
distressed  state  of  the  country  had  of  course  greatly  im 
perilled.  I  was  not  aware  that  papa  had  been  at  any 
time  seriously  concerned  about  them ;  however,  it  soon 
appeared  that  mamma  had  reason  enough  now  for  being 
ill  at  ease.  In  the  South,  wrar  and  war  preparations  had 
so  far  superseded  the  usual  employments  of  men,  that 
next  to  nothing  could  be  looked  for  in  place  of  the  ordi 
nary  large  crops  and  ample  revenues.  And  Melbourne 
had  been  let,  indeed,  for  a  good  rent ;  but  there  was  some 
trouble  about  collecting  the  rent ;  and  if  collected,  it  be 
longed  to  Ransom.  Hansom  was  in  the  Southern  army, 
fighting  no  doubt  his  best,  and  mamma  would  not  have 
scrupled  to  use  his  money ;  but  Dr.  Sandford  scrupled  to 


296  DAISY. 

send  it  without  authority.  He  urged  mamma  to  come 
home,  where  he  said  she  could  be  better  taken  care  of 
than  alone  in  distant  Switzerland.  He  proposed  that  she 
should  reoccupy  Melbourne,  and  let  him  farm  the  ground 
for  her  until  Hansom  should  be  able  to  look  after  it. 
Mamma  and  Aunt  Gary  had  many  talks  on  the  subject. 
I  said  as  little  as  I  could. 

'  It  is  almost  as  bad  with  me/  said  my  aunt  Gary,  one 
of  these  times.  '  Only  I  do  not  want  much.' 

*  I  do,'  said  mamma.     '  And  if  one  must  live  as  one 
has  not  been  accustomed  to  live,  I  would  rather  it  should 
be  where  I  am  unknown.' 

*  You  are  not  unknown  here,  my  dear  sister!' 
'Personally  and  socially.     Not   exactly.     But  I  am 

historically  unknown.' 

'  Historically !'  echoed  my  aunt. 

'And  living  is  cheaper  here  too.' 

'But  one  must  have  some  money,  even  here,  Felicia.' 

' 1  have  jewels,'  said  mamma. 

'Your  jewels! — Daisy  might  have  prevented  all  this/ 
said  Aunt  Gary,  looking  at  me. 

'  Daisy  is  one  of  those  whose  religion  it  is  to  please 
themselves.' 

'  But,  my  dear,  you  must  be  married  some  time/  my 
aunt  went  on  appealingly. 

'  I  do  not  think  that  is  certain,  Aunt  Gary.' 

'  You  are  not  waiting  for  Preston,  are  you  ?  I  hope 
not ;  for  he  is  likely  to  be  as  poor  as  you  are ;  if  he  gets 
through  the  battles,  poor  boy!'  And  my  aunt  put  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

'  I  am  not  waiting  for  Preston/  I  said,  '  any  more  than 
he  is  waiting  for  me/ 

'I  don't  know  how  that  is/  said  my  aunt.  'Preston 
was  very  dependent  on  you,  Daisy ;  but  I  don't  know — 
since  he  has  heard  these  stories  of  you — ' 


ONE  FALLEN.  297 

' Daisy  is  nothing  to  Preston!'  my  mother  broke  in 
with  some  sharpness.  '  Tell  him  so,  if  he  ever  broaches 
the  question  to  you.  Cut  that  matter  short.  I  have 
other  views  for  Daisy,  when  she  returns  to  her  duty.  I 
believe  in  a  religion  of  obedience — not  in  a  religion  of  in 
dependent  self-will.  I  wish  Daisy  had  been  brought  up 
in  a  convent.  She  would,  if  I  had  had  my  way.  These 
popular  religions  throw  over  all  law  and  order.  I  hate 
them!' 

I  You  see,  Daisy  my  dear,  how  pleasant  it  would  be, 
if  you  could  see  things  as  your  mother  does,'  my  aunt 
remarked. 

I 1  am  indifferent  whether  Daisy  has  my  eyes  or  not/ 
said  mamma ;  '  what  I  desire  is,  that  she  should  have  my 
will.' 

The  talks  came  to  nothing,  ended  in  nothing,  did 
nothing.  My  aunt  Gary  at  the  beginning  of  winter  went 
back  to  America.  My  mother  did  as  she  had  proposed  ; 
sold  some  of  her  jewels,  and  so  paid  her  way  in  Switzer 
land  for  some  months  longer.  But  this  could  not  last. 
Dr.  Sandford  urged  her  return;  she  wished  also  to  be 
nearer  to  Ransom ;  and  in  the  spring  we  once  more  em 
barked  for  home. 

The  winter  had  been  exceedingly  sad  to  me.  No  word 
from  America  ever  reached  my  hands  to  give  me  any 
comfort;  and  I  was  alone  with  my  sorrow.  Mamma's 
state  of  mind,  too,  which  was  most  uncomfortable  for 
her,  was  extremely  trying  to  me ;  because  it  consisted  of 
regrets  that  I  could  not  soothe,  anxieties  that  I  was  un 
able  to  allay,  and  reproachful  wishes  that  I  could  neither 
meet  nor  promise  to  meet.  Constant  repinings,  ceaseless 
irritations,  purposeless  discussions ;  they  wearied  my  heart, 
but  I  could  bring  no  salve  nor  remedy  unless  I  would 
have  agreed  to  make  a  marriage  for  money.  I  missed 
all  that  had  brought  so  much  sweetness  into  even  my 


293  DAISY. 

Paris  life,  with  my  talks  with  papa,  and  readings,  and 
sympathy,  and  mutual  confidence.  It  was  a  weary 
winter,  my  only  real  earthly  friend  being  Mont  Pilatte. 
Except  Mr.  Dinwiddie.  I  had  written  to  him  and  got 
one  or  two  good,  strong,  kind,  helpful  answers.  Ah, 
what  a  good  thing  a  good  letter  is ! 

So  it  was  great  relief  to  quit  Switzerland  and  find  my 
self  on  the  deck  of  the  steamer,  with  every  revolution  of 
the  paddle  wheels  bringing  me  nearer  home.  Nearer 
what  had  been  home ;  all  was  vague  and  blank  in  the 
distance  now.  I  was  sure  of  nothing.  Only,  "The 
Lord  is  my  Shepherd,"  answers  all  that.  It  cannot 
always  stop  the  beating  of  human  hearts,  though  ;  and 
mine  beat  hard  sometimes,  on  that  homeward  voyage. 
Mamma  was  very  dismal.  I  sat  on  deck  as  much  as  I 
could  and  watched  the  sea.  It  soothed  me,  with  its  liv 
ing  image  of  God's  grand  government  on  earth ;  its 
ceaseless  majestic  flow,  of  which  the  successive  billows 
that  raise  their  heads  upon  its  surface  are  not  the  inter 
ruption,  but  the  continuation.  So  with  our  little  affairs, 
so  with  mine.  Not  for  nothing  does  any  feeblest  one's 
fortunes  rise  or  fall ;  but  to  work  somewhat  of  good  either 
to  himself  or  to  others,  and  so  to  the  whole.  I  was  pretty 
quiet  during  the  voyage,  while  I  knew  that  no  news  could 
reach  me ;  I  expected  to  keep  quiet ;  but  I  did  not  know 
myself. 

We  had  hardly  entered  the  bay  of  New  York,  and  I 
had  begun  to  discern  familiar  objects  and  to  realize  that 
I  was  in  the  same  land  with  Mr.  Thorold  again,  when  a 
tormenting  anxiety  took  possession  of  my  heart.  Now 
that  I  was  near  him,  questions  could  be  put  off  no  longer. 
What  tidings  would  greet  me  ?  and  how  should  I  get  any 
tidings  at  all  ?  A  fever  began  to  run  along  my  veins, 
which  I  felt  was  not  to  be  cured  by  reasoning.  Yes,  I 
was  not  seeking  to  dispose  my  own  affairs;  I  was  not 


ONE   FALLEN.  299 

trying  to  take  them  into  my  own  hands ;  but  I  craved  to 
know  how  they  stood,  and  what  it  was  to  which  I  must 
submit  myself.  I  was  not  willing  to  submit  to  uncer 
tainty.  Yet  I  remembered  I  must  do  just  that. 

The  vessel  came  to  her  moorings,  and  I  sat  in  my 
muse,  only  conscious  of  that  devouring  impatience  which 
possessed  me ;  and  did  not  see  Dr.  Sandford  till  he  was 
close  by  my  side.  Then  I  was  glad ;  but  the  deck  of 
that  bustling  steamer  was  no  place  to  shew  how  glad.  I 
stood  still,  with  my  hand  in  the  doctor's,  and  felt  my 
face  growing  cold. 

'Sit  down !'  he  said,  putting  me  back  in  the  chair  from 
which  I  had  risen ;  and  still  keeping  my  hand.  '  How 
is  Mrs.  Randolph  ?' 

'  I  suppose  you  know  how  she  is,  from  her  letters.' 

'  And  you  ?'  he  said,  with  a  change  of  tone. 

'  I  do  not  know.     I  shall  be  better,  I  hope.' 

'You  will  be  better,  to  get  ashore.  Will  you  learn 
your  mother's  pleasure  about  it  ?  and  I  will  attend  to  the 
rest.' 

I  thanked  him ;  for  the  tone  of  genuine,  manly  care 
and  protection,  was  in  my  ears  for  the  first  time  in  many 
a  day.  Mamma  was  very  willing  to  avail  herself  of  it 
too,  and  to  my  great  pleasure  received  Dr.  Sandford  and 
treated  him  with  perfect  courtesy.  Booms  were  pro 
vided  for  us  in  one  of  the  best  hotels,  and  comforts  ready. 
The  doctor  saw  us  established  there,  and  asked  what  more 
he  could  do  for  us  before  he  left  us  to  rest.  He  would 
not  stay  to  dinner. 

'  The  papers,  please,'  said  mamma.  '  Will  you  send 
me  all  the  papers.  What  is  the  news  ?  We  have  heard 
nothing  for  weeks.' 

'  I  will  send  you  the  papers.  You  will  see  the  news 
there,'  said  the  doctor. 

'  But  what  is  it  ?' 


300  DAISY. 

1  You  would  not  rest  if  I  began  upon  the  subject.  It 
would  take  a  good  while  to  tell  it  all.' 

'But  what  is  the  position  of  affairs?' 

'  Sherman  is  in  Georgia.  Grant  is  in  Virginia.  There 
has  been,  and  there  is,  some  stout  fighting  on  hand.' 

'  Sherman  and  Grant,'  said  mamma.  '  Where  are  my 
people,  doctor?' 

'  Opposed  to  them.  They  do  not  find  the  way  exactly 
open,'  the  doctor  answered. 

1  Hard  fighting,  you  said.     How  did  it  result  T 

'  Nothing  is  decided  yet — except  that  the  Yankees  can 
fight,'  said  the  doctor,  with  a  slight  smile.  And  mamma 
said  no  more.  But  I  took  courage,  and  she  took  gloom. 
The  papers  came,  a  bundle  of  them,  reaching  back  over 
several  dates ;  giving  details  of  the  battles  of  the  Wilder 
ness  and  of  Sherman's  operations  in  the  South.  Mamma 
studied  and  studied,  and  interrupted  her  dinner  to  study. 
I  took  the  sheets  as  they  fell  from  her  hand  and  looked 
— for  the  lists  of  the  wounded.  They  were  long  enough, 
but  they  did  not  hold  what  I  was  looking  for.  Mamma 
broke  out  at  last  with  an  earnest  expression  of  thanks 
giving  that  Sedgwick  was  killed. 

*  Why,  mamma?'  I  said  in  some  horror. 

'There  is  one  less !'  she  answered  grimly. 

'  But  one  less  makes  very  little  difference  for  the  cause, 
mamma.' 

'  I  wish  there  were  a  dozen  then,'  said  she.  *  I  wish 
all  were  shot,  that  have  the  faculty  of  leading  this  rabble 
of  numbers  and  making  them  worth  something.' 

But  I  was  getting,  I,  to  have  a  little  pride  in  North 
ern  blood.  I  said  nothing,  of  course. 

'  You  are  just  a  traitor,  Daisy,  I  believe,'  said  mamma. 
1  You  read  of  all  that  is  going  on,  and  you  know  that 
Ransom  and  Preston  Gary  are  in  it,  and  you  do  not  care ; 
except  you  care  on  the  wrong  side.  But  I  tell  you  this, — 


ONE   FALLEN.  301 

nothing  that  calls  itself  Yankee  shall  ever  have  anything 
to  do  with  me  or  mine  so  long  as  I  live.  I  will  see  you 
dead  first,  Daisy.' 

There  was  no  answer  to  be  made  to  this  either.  It  only 
sank  down  into  my  heart ;  and  I  knew  I  had  no  help  in 
this  world. 

The  question  immediately  pressed  itself  upon  our  at 
tention,  where  would  wre  go?  Dr.  Sandford  proposed 
Melbourne ;  and  urged  that  in  the  first  place  we  should 
avail  ourselves  of  the  hospitalities  of  his  sister's  house  in 
that  neighbourhood,  most  generously  tendered  us,  till  he 
could  be  at  leisure  to  make  arrangements  at  our  old 
home.  Just  now  he  was  under  the  necessity  of  returning 
immediately  to  Washington,  where  he  had  one  or  more 
hospitals  in  charge ;  indeed  he  left  us  that  same  night 
of  our  landing ;  but  before  he  went  he  earnestly  pressed 
his  sister's  invitation  upon  my  mother,  and  promised  that 
so  soon  as  the  settlement  of  the  country's  difficulties 
should  set  him  free,  he  would  devote  himself  to  the  care 
of  us  and  Melbourne  till  we  were  satisfactorily  estab 
lished. 

1  And  I  am  in  hopes  it  will  not  be  very  long  now/  he 
said  aside  to  me.  '  I  think  the  country  has  got  the  right 
man  at  last ;  and  that  is  what  we  have  been  waiting  for. 
Grant  says  he  will  fight  it  out  on  this  line,  if  it  takes  all 
summer ;  and  I  think  the  end  is  coming/ 

Mamma  would  give  no  positive  answer  to  the  doctor's 
instances;  she  thanked  him  and  talked  round  the  sub 
ject,  and  he  was  obliged  to  go  away  without  any  con 
tentment  of  her  giving.  Alone  with  me,  she  spoke  out : 

'I  will  take  no  Yankee  civilities,  Daisy.  I  will  be 
under  no  obligation  to  one  of  them.  And  I  could  not 
endure  to  be  in  the  house  of  one  of  them,  if  it  were  con 
ferring  instead  of  receiving  obligation.' 

'What  will  you  do,  then,  mamma.' 

VOL.  n. — 26 


302  DAISY. 


1 1  will  wait.  You  do  not  suppose  that  the  South  can 
be  conquered,  Daisy?  The  idea  is  absurd!' 

'  But,  mamma ! — ' 

'Well?' 

'  Why  is  it  absurd  ?' 

'  Because  they  are  not  a  people  to  give  up.  Don't  you 
know  that  ?  They  would  die  first,  every  man  and  woman 
of  them.' 

'  But  mamma,  whatever  the  spirit  of  the  people  may 
be,  numbers  and  means  have  to  tell  upon  the  question  at 
last.' 

'Numbers  and  means!'  mamma  repeated  scornfully. 
'  I  tell  you,  Daisy,  the  South  cannot  yield.  And  as  they 
cannot  yield,  they  must  sooner  or  later  succeed.  Success 
always  comes  at  last  to  those  who  cannot  be  conquered.' 

'  What  is  to  become  of  us  in  the  mean  time,  mamma  ?' 

'  I  don't  see  that  it  signifies  much,'  she  said,  relapsing 
out  of  the  fire  with  which  the  former  sentences  had  been 
pronounced.  '  I  would  like  to  live  to  see  the  triumph  come.' 

That  was  all  I  could  get  from  mamma  that  evening. 
She  lay  down  on  a  sofa  and  buried  her  face  in  pillows. 
I  sat  in  the  darkening  room  and  mused.  The  windows 
were  open ;  a  soft  warm  air  blew  the  curtains  gently  in 
and  out;  from  the  street  below  came  the  murmur  of 
business  and  voices  and  clatter  of  feet  and  sound  of 
wheels ;  not  with  the  earnestness  of  alarm  or  the  droop 
of  depression,  but  ringing,  sharp,  clear,  cheery.  The 
city  did  not  feel  badly.  New  York  had  not  suffered  in 
its  fortunes  or  prosperity.  There  was  many  a  battlefield 
at  the  South  where  the  ravages  of  war  had  swept  all 
traces  and  hopes  of  good  fortunes  away ;  never  one  at 
the  North  where  the  corn  had  been  blasted,  or  the  fruits 
of  the  earth  untimely  ravaged,  or  the  heart  of  the  hus 
bandman  disappointed  in  his  ground.  Mamma's  con 
clusions  seemed  to  me  without  premise.  What  of  my 


ONE  FALLEN.  303 

own  fortunes?  I  thought  the  wind  of  the  desert  had 
blown  upon  them  and  they  were  dead.  I  remember,  in 
the  trembling  of  my  heart  as  I  sat  and  listened  and 
mused,  and  thoughts  trooped  in  and  out  of  my  head  with 
little  order  or  volition  on  my  part,  one  word  was  a  sort 
of  rallying  point  on  which  they  gathered  and  fell  back 
from  time  to  time,  though  they  started  out  again  on  fresh 
roamings — "  Lord,  thou  hast  been  our  dwelling-place  hi 
all  generations"  ! — I  remember, — it  seems  to  me  now  as 
if  it  had  been  some  time  before  I  was  born, — how  the 
muslin  curtains  floated  in  on  the  evening  wind,  and  the 
hum  and  stir  of  the  street  came  up  to  my  ear ;  the  bustle 
and  activity,  though  it  was  evening;  and  how  the  distant 
battlefields  of  Virginia  looked  in  forlorn  contrast  in  the 
far  distance.  Yet  this  was  really  the  desert  and  that  the 
populous  place  ;  for  there,  somewhere,  my  world  was.  I 
grew  very  desolate  as  I  thought,  or  mused,  by  the  win 
dow.  If  it  had  not  been  for  those  words  of  the  refuge, 
my  heart  would  have  failed  me  utterly.  After  a  long 
while  mamma  roused  up  and  we  had  tea  brought. 

1  Has  Dr.  Sandford  gone  ?'  she  asked. 

'  He  bid  us  good  bye,  mamma,  you  know.  I  suppose  he 
took  the  evening  train,  as  he  said.' 

'  Then  we  shall  have  no  more  meddling/ 

'  He  means  us  only  kindness,  I  am  sure,  mamma/ 

'  I  do  not  like  kindness.  I  do  not  know  what  right  Dr. 
Sandford  has  to  offer  me  kindness.  I  gave  him  none/ 

'  Mamma,  it  seems  to  me  that  we  are  in  a  condition  to 
receive  kindness, — and  be  very  glad  of  it.' 

'  You  are  poor-spirited,  Daisy ;  you  always  were.  You 
never  had  any  right  pride  of  blood  or  of  place.  I  think 
it  makes  no  difference  to  you  who  people  are.  If  you  had 
done  your  duty  to  me,  we  should  have  been  in  no  condi 
tion  now  to  "  receive  kindness,"  as  you  express  it.  I  may 
thank  you.' 


304  DAISY. 

1  What  do  you  mean  to  do,  mamma  ?' 

'Nothing.' 

'Stay  here,  in  this  hotel?' 

'Yes.' 

'  It  will  be  very  expensive,  mamma.' 

'  I  will  meet  the  expense.' 

'  But  mamma, — without  funds  ?' 

'  I  have  a  diamond  necklace  yet,  Daisy.' 

'  But  mamma,  when  that  is  gone  ? — ' 

'Do  you  think,'  she  broke  out  with  violence,  'that 
this  war  is  going  to  last  for  ever  ?  It  cannot  last.  The 
Yankees  will  find  out  what  they  have  undertaken.  Lee 
will  drive  them  back.  You  do  not  suppose  he  can  be 
overcome  ?' 

'  Mamma — if  the  others  have  more  men  and  more 
means — ' 

'  They  are  only  Yankees,' — mamma  said  quietly,  but 
with  a  concentration  of  scorn  impossible  to  give  in  words. 

'  They  know  how  to  fight,' — I  could  not  help  saying. 

'  Yes,  but  we  do  not  know  how  to  be  overcome !  Do 
you  think  it,  Daisy  ?' 

'  Mamma — there  was  New  Orleans — and  Vicksburg — 
and  Gettysburg ; — and  now  in  Virginia — ' 

'  Yes,  now  ;  these  battles ;  you  will  see  how  they  will 
turn.  Do  you  suppose  this  Yankee  Grant  is  a  match  for 
Robert  E.  Lee  ?' 

It  was  best  to  drop  the  discussion,  and  I  dropped  it ; 
but  it  had  gone  too  far  to  be  forgotten.  Every  bit  of 
news  from  that  time  was  a  point  of  irritation ;  if  good  for 
the  South,  mamma  asserted  that  I  did  not  sympathize 
with  it ;  if  good  for  the  North,  she  found  that  I  was  glad, 
though  I  tried  not  to  shew  that  I  was.  She  was  irritated, 
and  anxious,  and  unhappy.  What  I  was,  I  kept  to  my 
self. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

THE     WOUNDED. 

ONE  desire  possessed  me,  pressing  before  every  other ; 
it  was  to  see  Miss  Cardigan.  I  thought  I  should  accom 
plish  this  very  soon  after  my  landing.  I  found  that  I 
must  wait  for  days. 

It  was  very  hard  to  wait.  Yet  mamma  needed  me ; 
she  was  nervous  and  low-spirited  and  unwell  and  lonely ; 
she  could  not  endure  to  have  me  long  out  of  her  sight. 
She  never  looked  with  favour  upon  any  proposal  of  mine 
to  go  out,  even  for  a  walk ;  and  I  could  hardly  get  per 
mission.  I  fancied  that  some  latent  suspicion  lay  be 
neath  all  this  unwillingness,  which  did  not  make  it  more 
easy  to  bear.  But  I  got  leave  at  last,  one  afternoon  early 
in  June ;  and  took  my  way  up  the  gay  thoroughfares  of 
Broadway  and  the  Avenue. 

It  was  June,  June  all  over.  Just  like  the  June  of  four 
years  ago,  when  Dr.  Sandford  took  me  away  from  school 
to  go  to  West  Point ;  like  the  June  of  three  years  ago, 
when  I  had  been  finishing  my  school  work,  before  I  went 
to  Washington.  I  was  a  mere  girl  then ;  now,  I  seemed 
to  myself  at  least  twenty  years  older.  June  sweetness 
was  in  all  the  air ;  June  sunlight  through  all  the  streets ; 
roses  blossomed  in  courtyards  and  looked  out  of  windows ; 
grass  was  lush  and  green ;  people  were  in  summer  dresses. 
I  hurried  along,  my  breath  growing  shorter  as  I  went. 
The  well-known  corner  of  Mme.  Ricard's  establishment 
came  inta  view,  and  bright  school-days  with  it.  Miss 
2(5  *  U  305 


306  DAISY. 

Cardigan's  house  opposite  looked  just  as  I  had  left  it ; 
and  as  I  drew  near  I  saw  that  this  was  literally  so.  The 
flowers  were  blossoming  in  the  garden  plots  and  putting 
their  faces  out  of  window,  exactly  as  if  I  had  left  them 
but  a  day  ago.  My  knees  trembled  under  me  then,  as  I 
went  up  the  steps  and  rang  the  bell.  A  strange  servant 
opened  to  me.  I  went  in,  to  her  astonishment  I  suppose, 
without  asking  any  questions ;  which  indeed  I  could  not. 
What  if  a  second  time  I  should  find  Mr.  Thorold  here  ? 
Such  a  thought  crossed  me  as  I  trod  the  familiar  marble 
floor,  after  the  wild  fashion  in  which  our  wishes  mock  our 
reason ;  then  it  left  me  the  next  instant,  in  my  gladness 
to  see  through  the  opening  door  the  figure  of  my  dear  old 
friend.  Just  as  I  had  left  her  also.  Something,  in  the 
wreck  of  my  world,  had  stood  still  and  suffered  no 
change. 

I  went  in  and  stood  before  her.  She  pulled  off  her 
spectacles,  looked  at  me,  changed  colour  and  started  up. 
I  can  hardly  tell  what  she  said.  I  think  I  was  in  too 
great  a  confusion  for  my  senses  to  do  their  office  per 
fectly.  But  her  warm  arms  were  about  me,  and  my  head 
found  a  hiding-place  on  her  shoulder. 

'Sit  down,  my  lamb,  my  lamb!'  were  the  first  words  I 
remember.  '  Janet,  shut  the  door,  and  tell  anybody  I  am 
busy.  Sit  you  down  here  and  rest.  My  lamb,  ye're  all 
shaken.  Daisy,  my  pet,  where  have  you  been  ?' 

I  sat  down,  and  she  did,  but  I  leaned  over  to  the  arms 
that  still  enfolded  me  and  laid  my  head  on  her  bosom. 
She  was  silent  now  for  a  while.  And  I  wished  she  would 
speak,  but  I  could  not.  Her  arms  pressed  me  close  in 
the  embrace  that  had  so  comforted  my  childhood.  She 
had  taken  off  my  bonnet  and  kissed  me  and  smoothed 
my  hair;  and  that  was  all,  for  what  seemed  a  long 
while. 

1  What  is  it  ?'  she  said  at  last.     '  I  know  you're  left, 


THE    WOUNDED.  307 

my  darling.  I  heard  of  your  loss,  while  you  were  go  far 
away  from  home.  One  is  gone  from  your  world.' 

*  He  was  happy — he  is  happy,'  I  whispered. 

'Let  us  praise  the  Lord  for  that!'  she  said  in  her 
broadest  Scotch  accent,  which  only  came  out  in  moments 
of  feeling. 

'But  he  was  nearly  all  my  world,  Miss  Cardigan/ 

'  Ay,'  she  said.  '  We  hae  but  one  father.  And  yet, 
no,  my  bairn.  Ye're  not  left  desolate.' 

'  I  have  been  very  near  it.' 

'  I  am  glad  ye  are  come  home.' 

'  But  I  feel  as  if  I  had  no  home  anywhere,'  I  said  with 
a  burst  of  tears  which  were  a  great  mercy  to  me  at  the 
time.  The  stricture  upon  my  heart  had  like  to  have 
taken  away  my  breath.  Miss  Cardigan  let  me  weep, 
saying  sympathy  with  the  tender  touch  of  her  soft  hand ; 
no  otherwise.  And  then  I  could  lift  myself  up  and  face 
life  again. 

'  You  have  not  forgotten  your  Lord,  Daisy  ?'  she  said  at 
length,  when  she  saw  me  quiet.  I  looked  at  her  and 
smiled  my  answer,  though  it  must  have  been  a  sober 
smile. 

'  I  see,'  she  said ;  '  you  have  not.  But  how  was  it,  so 
far  away,  my  bairn  ?  Weren't  you  tempted  ?' 

'  No,  dear  Miss  Cardigan.     What  could  tempt  me  ?' 

'The  world,  child.  Its  baits  of  pleasure  and  pride 
and  power.  Did  they  never  take  hold  on  ye,  Daisy  ?' 

'  My  pleasure  I  had  left  at  home,'  I  said.  '  No, 
that  is  not  quite  true.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  being  with 
papa  and  mamma ;  and  of  seeing  a  great  deal  of  beauty, 
too.  And  I  had  pleasure  in  Palestine,  Miss  Cardigan  ; 
but  it  was  not  the  sort  to  tempt  me  to  forget  anything 
good.' 

'  And  pride  ?'  said  the  old  lady. 

'  Why  do  you  ask  me  ?' 


308  DAISY. 

'You're  so  bonny,  my  darling.  You  ken  you  are; 
and  other  folks  know  it.' 

'Pride?  Yes,  it  tempted  me  a  little,'  I  said;  'but  it 
could  not  for  long,  Miss  Cardigan,  when  I  remembered.' 

'Remembered?  What  was  it  you  remembered?'  she 
said  very  tenderly ;  for  I  believe  my  eyes  had  filled  again. 

'  When  I 'remembered  what  I  was  heir  to.' 

'  And  ye  didn't  have  your  inheritance  all  in  the  future, 
I  trust  ?'  said  my  old  friend.  '  There's  crumbs  to  be 
gotten  even  now  from  that  feast ;  ye  didn't  go  starving, 
my  bairn  ?' 

'  I  hadn't  much  to  help  me,  Miss  Cardigan,  except  the 
Lord's  wonderful  world  which  he  has  made.  That  helped 
me.' 

'  And  ye  had  a  crumb  of  joy  now  and  then?' 

'  I  had  more  than  crumbs  sometimes,'  I  said,  with  a 
sober  looking  back  over  the  years. 

'  And  it  is  my  own  living  Daisy  and  not  an  image  of 
her  ?  You  are  not  spoiled  a  bit,  my  bairn  ?' 

'Maybe  I  am,'  I  said  smiling  at  her.  'How  do  I 
know?' 

'  There's  a  look  in  your  eyes  which  says  you  are  not,' 
she  said  with  a  sort  of  long  breath ;  '  and  I  know  not  how 
you  have  escaped  it.  Child !  the  forces  which  have  as 
sailed  you  have  beaten  down  many  a  one.  It's  only  to 
be  strong  in  the  Lord,  to  be  sure ;  but  we  are  lured  away 
from  our  strength,  sometimes,  and  then  we  fall ;  and  we 
are  lured  easily/ 

'  Perhaps  not  when  the  battle  is  so  very  hard  to  fight, 
dear  Miss  Cardigan.' 

'  Maybe  no,'  she  said.  '  But  had  ye  never  a  minister 
to  counsel  ye  or  to  help  ye,  in  those  parts  ?' 

'  Only  when  I  was  in  Palestine ;  nowhere  else.' 

*  You  must  have  wanted  it  sorely/ 

'  Yes,  but,  Miss  Cardigan,  I  had  better  teaching  all  the 


THE    WOUNDED.  309 

time.  The  mountains  and  the  sun  and  the  sky  and  the 
beauty,  all  seemed  to  repeat  the  Bible  to  me,  all  the  time. 
I  never  saw  the  top  of  Mont  Blanc  rosy  in  the  sunset, 
nor  the  other  mountains,  without  thinking  of  those  words, 
"  Be  ye  perfect,  even  as  your  Father  in  heaven  is  per 
fect."— and,  "They  shall  walk  with  me  in  white.—"  ' 
Miss  Cardigan  wiped  away  a  tear  or  two. 

*  But  you  are  looking  very  sober,  my  love,'  she  said 
presently,  examining  me. 

'I  have  reason,'  I  said.  And  I  went  on  to  give  her  in 
detail  the  account  of  the  past  year's  doings  in  my  family, 
and  of  our  present  position  and  prospects.  She  listened 
with  the  greatest  sympathy  and  the  most  absorbed  atten 
tion.  The  story  had  taken  a  good  while ;  it  was  growing 
late,  and  I  rose  to  go.  Not  till  then  was  her  nephew 
alluded  to. 

*  I'm  thinking,'  then  said  Miss  Cardigan  slowly,  'there's 
one  person  you  have  not  asked  after,  who  would  ill  like 
to  be  left  out  of  our  mouths.' 

I  stood  still  and  hesitated  and  I  felt  my  face  grow 
warm. 

'  I  have  not  heard  from  him,  Miss  Cardigan,  since — * 

And  I  did  not  say  since  when. 

'  And  what  of  it  ?'  she  asked. 

'  Nothing — '  I  said,  stammering  a  little, — '  but  I  wait.' 

'  He's  waiting,  poor  lad,'  she  said.  '  Have  ye  not  had 
letters  from  him  ?' 

'  Never ;  not  since  that  one  I  sent  him  through  you.' 

'  He  got  it,  however,'  said  Miss  Cardigan ;  '  for  there 
was  no  reason  whatever  why  he  should  not.  Did  you 
think,  Daisy,  he  had  forgotten  you  ?' 

'  No,  Miss  Cardigan ;  but  it  was  told  of  him  that — he 
had  forgotten  me.' 

'  How  was  that  done  ?  I  thought  no  one  knew  about 
your  loving  each  other,  you  two  children.' 


310  DAISY. 

1  bo  I  thought ;  but — why,  Miss  Cardigan,  it  was  con 
fidently  tvjld  in  Paris  to  my  mother  that  he  was  engaged 
to  a  schoolmate  of  mine.' 

'  Did  you  oelieve  it  ?' 

'  No.  But  1  never  heard  from  him  again,  and  of  course 
papa  did  believe  it.  How  could  I  tell,  Miss  Cardigan  ?' 

'  By  your  faitA,  child.  I  wouldn't  have  Christian  think 
you  didn't  believe  him,  not  for  all  the  world  holds.' 

'I  did  believe  hum,'  I  said,  feeling  a  rill  of  joy  flowing 
into  some  dry  places  in  my  heart  and  changing  the  wilder 
ness  there.  '  But  he  vras  silent,  and  I  waited.' 

'  He  was  not  silent,  I'll  answer  for  it,'  said  his  aunt ; 
'  but  the  letters  might  nave  gone  wrong,  you  know.  That 
is  what  they  have  done,  »vMiehow.' 

'  What  could  have  beeii  the  foundation  of  that  story  ?' 
I  questioned. 

'  I  just  counsel  ye  to  ask  Christian,  when  ye  see  him — 
if  these  weary  wars  ever  let  us  see  him.  I  think  he'll 
answer  ye.' 

And  his  aunt's  manner  rather  intimated  that  my  an 
swer  would  be  decisive.  I  bade  her  good  bye,  and  re 
turned  along  the  shadowing  streets  with  such  a  play  of 
life  and  hope  in  my  heart,  as  for  the  time  changed  it  into 
a  very  garden  of  delight.  I  was  not  the  same  person  that 
had  walked  those  ways  a  few  hours  ago. 

This  jubilation,  however,  could  not  quite  last.  I  had 
no  sooner  got  home,  than  mamma  began  to  cast  in  doubts 
and  fears  and  frettings,  till  the  play  of  the  fountain  was 
well  nigh  covered  over  with  rubbish.  Yet  I  could  feel 
the  waters  of  joy  stirring  underneath  it  all ;  and  she  said, 
rather  in  a  displeased  manner,  that  my  walk  seemed  to 
have  done  me  a  great  deal  of  good !  and  inquired  where 
I  had  been.  I  told  her,  of  course ;  and  then  had  to  ex 
plain  how  I  became  acquainted  with  Miss  Cardigan ;  a 
detail  which  mamma  heard  with  small  edification.  Her 


THE    WOUNDED.  311 

only  remark,  however,  made  at  the  end,  was,  '  I  beseech 
you,  Daisy,  do  not  cultivate  such  associations!' 

'  She  was  very  good  to  me,  mamma,  when  I  was  a 
schoolgirl.' 

'  Very  well,  you  are  not  a  schoolgirl  now.' 

It  followed  very  easily,  that  I  could  see  little  of  my 
dear  old  friend.  Mamma  was  suspicious  of  me  and  rarely 
allowed  me  to  go  out  of  her  sight.  We  abode  still  at 
the  hotel,  where  we  had  luxurious  quarters ;  how  paid 
for,  mamma's  jewel-box  knew.  It  made  me  very  uneasy 
to  live  so ;  for  jewels,  even  be  they  diamonds,  cannot 
last  very  long  after  they  are  once  turned  into  gold  pieces ; 
and  I  knew  ours  went  fast ;  but  nothing  could  move  my 
mother  out  of  her  pleasure.  In  vain  Dr.  Sandford  wrote 
and  remonstrated ;  and  in  vain  I  sometimes  pleaded. 
'  The  war  is  not  going  to  last  for  ever,'  she  would  coldly 
reply ;  '  you  and  Dr.  Sandford  are  two  fools.  The  South 
cannot  be  conquered,  Daisy.' 

But  I  with  trembling  hope  was  beginning  to  think 
otherwise. 

So  the  days  passed  on,  and  the  weeks.  Mamma  spent 
half  her  time  over  the  newspapers.  I  consulted  them,  I 
could  not  help  it,  in  my  old  fashion ;  and  it  made  them 
grewsome  things  to  me.  But  it  was  a  necessity  for  me, 
to  quiet  my  nerves  with  the  certainty  that  no  name  I 
loved  was  to  be  found  there  in  those  lists  of  sorrow. 

And  one  day  that  certainty  failed.  Among  the  new 
arrivals  of  wounded  men  just  come  into  Washington 
from  Virginia,  I  saw  the  name  of  Capt.  Preston  Gary. 

It  was  late  in  the  summer,  or  early  in  September ;  I 
forget  which.  We  were  as  we  had  been ;  nothing  in  our 
position  changed.  Mamma  at  the  moment  was  busy 
over  other  prints,  having  thrown  this  down ;  and  feeling 
my  cheeks  grow  white  as  I  sat  there,  I  held  the  paper  to 
shield  my  face  and  pondered  what  I  should  do.  The  in- 


DAISY. 

stant  thought  had  been,  '  I  must  go  to  him.'  The  second 
brought  difficulties.  How  to  meet  the  difficulties,  I  sat 
thinking;  that  I  must  go  to  Preston  I  never  doubted 
for  a  moment.  I  sat  in  a  maze;  till  an  exclamation 
from  my  mother  brought  my  paper  shield  down. 

'  Here's  a  letter  from  the  doctor,  Daisy ;  he  says  your 
cousin  is  in  the  hospital.'  , 

'  His  hospital  ?'  I  asked. 

'  I  suppose  so ;  he  does  not  say  that.  But  he  says  he 
is  badly  wounded.  I  wonder  how  he  comes  to  be  in 
Washington  ?' 

'  Taken  prisoner,  mamma.' 

'Yes, — wounded,'  mamma  said  bitterly.  'That's  the 
only  way  he  could.  Dr.  Sandford  bids  me  let  his  mother 
know.  She  can't  go  to  him ;  even  if  my  letter  could 
reach  her  in  time  and  she  could  get  to  Washington,  which 
I  don't  believe  she  could ;  she  is  too  ill  herself.  I  shall 
not  write  to  her.' 

'  Let  us  go,  mamma ;  you  and  I.' 

'  I  ?'  said  mamma.  '  I  go  to  that  den  of  thieves  ?  No ; 
I  shall  not  go  to  Washington,  unless  I  am  dragged  there.' 

'  But  Preston,  mamma ;  think !' 

'  I  am  tired  of  thinking,  Daisy.  There  is  no  good  in 
thinking.  This  is  the  work  of  your  favourite  Northern 
swords  and  guns ;  I  hope  you  enjoy  it.' 

'  I  would  like  to  remedy  it,  mamma ;  to  do  something 
at  least.  Mamma,  do  let  us  go  to  Preston !' 

I  spoke  very  earnestly,  and  I  believe  with  tears. 
Mamma  looked  at  me. 

'  Why,  do  you  care  for  him  ?'  she  asked. 

'  Very  much !'  I  said  weeping. 

'  I  did  not  know  you  had  any  affection  for  anything 
South,  except  the  coloured  people.' 

'  Mamma  let  us  go  to  Preston.  He  must  want  us  so 
much!' 


THE    WOUNDED.  313 

'  I  cannot  go  to  Washington,  Daisy/ 
' Can  you  spare  me,  mamma?     I  will  go.' 
'  Do  you  love  Preston  Gary  ?'  said  mamma,  sitting  up 
right  to  look  at  me, 

*  Mamma,  I  always  loved  him.     You  know  I  did.' 

*  Why  did  you  not  say  so  before  ?' 

*  I  did  say  so,  mamma,  whenever  I  was  asked.     Will 
you  let  me  go  ?     O  mamma,  let  me  go !' 

*  What  could  you  do,  child  ?  he  is  in  the  hospital.' 

*  Mamma,  he  may  want  so  many  things ;  I  know  he 
must  want  some  things.' 

'  It  is  vain  talking.     You  cannot  go  alone,  Daisy.' 
'  No,  ma'am ;  but  if  I  could  get  a  good  safe  friend  to 
go  with  me  ?' 

'  I  do  not  know  such  a  person  in  this  place.' 

'I  do,  mamma, — just  the  person.' 

'  Not  a  fit  person  for  you  to  travel  with.' 

*  Yes,  mamma,  just  the  one ;  safe  and  wise  to  take  care 
of  me.     And  if  I  were  once  there,  Dr.  Sandford  would 
do  anything  for  me.' 

Mamma  pondered  my  words,  but  would  not  yield  to 
them.  I  wept  half  the  evening,  I  think,  with  a  strange 
strain  on  my  heart  that  said  I  must  go  to  Preston. 
Childish  memories  came  thick  about  me,  and  later  memo 
ries  ;  and  I  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  his  dying,  per 
haps,  alone  in  a  hospital,  without  one  near  to  say  a  word 
of  truth  or  help  him  in  any  wish  or  want  that  went  be 
yond  the  wants  of  the  body.  Would  even  those  be  met  ? 
My  nerves  were  unstrung. 

'Do  stop  your  tears,  Daisy!'  mamma  said  at  length. 
*  I  can't  bear  them.  I  never  saw  you  do  so  before.' 

*  Mamma,  I  must  go  to  Preston.' 

*  If  you  could  go  there  properly,  child,  and  had  any 
one  to  take  care  of  you ;  as  it  is,  it  is  impossible.' 

I  half  thought  it  was ;  I  could  not   bend  mamma. 
VOL.  ii. — 27 


314  DAISY. 

But  while  we  sat  there  under  the  light  of  the  lamp,  and 
I  was  trying  to  do  some  work,  which  was  every  now  and 
then  wetted  by  a  drop  that  would  fall,  a  servant  brought 
in  a  note  to  me.  It  was  from  Mrs.  Sandford,  in  New  York, 
on  her  way  to  Washington  to  look  after  a  friend  of  her 
own  ;  and  asking  if  in  any  matter  she  could  be  of  service 
to  me  or  to  mamma.  I  had  got  my  opportunity  now, 
and  I  managed  to  get  mamma's  consent.  I  answered 
Mrs.  Sandford' s  note ;  packed  up  my  things ;  and  by  the 
early  train  next  morning  started  with  her  for  Washington. 

Mrs.  Sandford  was  very  kind,  very  glad  to  have  me 
with  her,  very  full  of  questions,  of  sympathy,  of  condo 
lence,  and  of  care ;  I  remember  all  that,  and  how  I  took  it 
at  the  time,  feeling  that  Daisy  and  Daisy's  life  had  changed 
since  last  I  was  under  that  same  gentle  and  feeble  guidance. 
And  I  remember  what  an  undertone  of  music  ran  through 
my  heart  in  the  thought  that  I  might  perhaps  hear  of,  or 
see,  Mr.  Thorold.  Our  journey  was  prosperous;  and  the 
next  person  we  saw  after  arriving  at  our  rooms  was  Dr. 
Sandford.  He  shook  hands  with  his  sister;  and  then, 
his  eye  lightened  and  his  countenance  altered  as  he  turned 
to  the  other  figure  in  the  room  and  saw  who  it  was. 

'Daisy!'  he  exclaimed,  warmly  grasping  my  hand, — 
' Miss  Randolph!  where  is  Mrs.  Randolph,  and  what 
brings  you  here  ?' 

'  Why  the  train,  to  be  sure,  Grant,'  answered  his  sister- 
in-law.  'What  a  man  you  are  for  business  I  Do  let 
Daisy  rest  and  breathe  and  have  something  to  eat,  before 
she  is  obliged  to  give  an  account  of  herself.  See,  we  are 
tired  to  death.' 

Perhaps  she  was,  but  I  was  not.  However,  the  doctor 
and  I  both  yielded.  Mrs.  Sandford  and  I  withdrew  to 
change  our  dresses,  and  then  we  had  supper ;  but  after 
supper,  when  she  was  again  out  of  the  room,  Dr.  Sand- 
ford  turned  to  me  and  took  my  hand. 


THE    WOUNDED.  315 

'  I  must  go  presently/  he  said.  '  Now,  -Miss  Randolph, 
what  is  it  ?' 

I  sat  down  and  he  sat  down  beside  me,  still  holding 
my  hand,  on  a  sofa  in  the  room. 

'Dr.  Sandford,  my  cousin  Gary  is  a  prisoner  and  in 
the  hospital.  You  wrote  to  mamma.' 

'  Yes.     I  thought  his  mother  might  like  to  know.' 

'She  is  ill  herself,  in  Georgia,  and  cannot  come  to 
Washington.  Dr.  Sandford,  I  want  to  go  in  and  take 
care  of  him.' 

'You!'  said  the  doctor.  But  whatever  he  thought, 
his  countenance  was  impenetrable. 

'You  can. manage  that  for  me.' 

'Can  I?'  said  he.  'But  Daisy,  you  do  not  come 
under  the  regulations.' 

'  That  is  no  matter,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

'  How  is  it  no  matter  ?' 

'  Because,  I  know  you  can  do  what  you  like.  You 
always  could  manage  things  for  me.' 

He  smiled  a  little,  but  went  on  in  an  unchanged  tone. 

'You  are  too  young;  and — excuse  me — you  have 
another  disqualification.' 

'  I  will  do  just  as  you  tell  me,'  I  said. 

'  If  I  let  you  in.' 

'You  will  let  me  in.' 

'  I  do  not  see  that  I  ought.     I  think  I  ought  not.' 

'But  you  will,  Dr.  Sandford.  My  cousin  was  very 
dear  to  me  when  I  was  a  child  at  Melbourne — I  love  him 
yet  very  much — no  one  would  take  so  good  care  of  him 
as  I  would ;  and  it  would  be  a  comfort  to  me  for  ever. 
Do  let  me  go  in !  I  have  come  for  that.' 

*  You  might  get  sick  yourself,'  he  said.  'You  do  not 
know  what  you  would  be  obliged  to  hear  and  see.  You 
do  not  know,  Daisy.' 

'  I  am  not  a  child  now,'  I  replied. 


316  DAISY. 

There  was  more  in  my  answer  than  mere  words ;  there 
was  more,  I  know,  in  my  feeling;  and. the  doctor  took 
the  force  of  it.  He  looked  very  sober,  though,  upon  my 
plan,  which  it  was  evident  he  did  not  like. 

'Does  Mrs.  Randolph  give  her  consent  to  this  pro 
ceeding  ?'  he  asked. 

'  She  knows  I  came  that  I  might  look  after  Preston. 
I  did  not  tell  her  my  plan  any  further/ 

'She  would  not  like  it.' 

'  Mamma  and  I  do  not  see  things  with  the  same  eyes, 
some  things,  Dr.  Sandford.  I  think  I  ought  to  do  it.' 

' I  think  she  is  right,'  he  said.  'You  are  not  fit  for  it. 
You  have  no  idea  what  you  would  be  obliged  to  en 
counter.' 

'Try  me,'  I  said. 

'  I  believe  you  are  fit  for  anything,'  he  broke  out  in 
answer  to  this  last  appeal;  'and  I  owned  myself  con 
quered  by  you,  Daisy,  long  ago.  I  find  I  have  not  re 
covered  my  independence.  Well — you  will  go  in.  But 
you  cannot  be  dressed — so.' 

'  No,  I  will  change  my  dress.     I  will  do  it  immediately.' 

'No,  not  to-night!'  exclaimed  the  doctor.  'Not  to 
night.  It  is  bad  enough  to-morrow ;  but  I  shall  not  take 
you  in  to-night.  Rest,  and  sleep  and  be  refreshed;  I 
need  not  say,  be  strong ;  for  that  you  are  always.  No,  I 
will  not  take  you  with  me  to-night.  You  must  wait.' 

And  I  could  do  no  more  with  him  for  the  time.  I  im 
proved  the  interval,  however.  I  sent  out  and  got  some 
yards  of  check  to  make  aprons ;  and  at  my  aprons  I  sat 
sewing  air  the  evening,  to  Mrs.  Sandford's  disgust. 

'  My  dear  child,  what  do  you  want  of  those  things  ?' 
she  said,  looking  at  them  and  me  with  an  inexpressible 
disdain  of  the  check. 

'I  think  they  will  be  useful,  ma'am.' 

'  But  you  are  not  going  into  the  hospital  ?' 


THE    WOUNDED.  317 

*Yes;  to-morrow  morning.' 

'  As  a  visitor.     But  not  to  stay.' 

'I  am  going  to  stay  if  I  am  wanted,'  I  said,  display 
ing  the  dimensions  of  my  apron  for  my  own  satisfaction. 

'  My  dear,  if  you  stay,  you  will  be  obliged  to  see  all 
manner  of  horrible  things.' 

'  They  must  be  worse  to  bear  than  to  see,  Mrs.  Sand- 
ford.' 

'  But  you  cannot  endure  to  see  them,  Daisy ;  you  never 
can.  Grant  will  never  allow  it.' 

I  sewed  in  silence,  thinking  that  Dr.  Sandford  would 
conform  his  will  to  mine  in  the  matter. 

'I  will  never  forgive  him  if  he  does!'  said  the  lady. 
But  that  also  I  thought  would  have  to  be  borne.  My 
heart  was  firm  for  whatever  lay  before  me.  In  the  hospital, 
by  Preston's  side,  I  was  sure  my  work  lay ;  and  to  be 
there,  I  must  have  a  place  at  other  bedsides  as  well  as 
his.  In  the  morning  Mrs.  Sandford  renewed  her  objec 
tions  and  remonstrances  as  soon  as  she  saw  her  brother- 
in-law  ;  and  to  do  him  justice,  he  looked  as  ill  pleased  as 
she  did. 

*  Daisy  wants  to   go   into  the  hospital  as  a  regular 
nurse,'  she  said. 

*  It  is  a  weakness  of  large-hearted  women  now-a-days.' 
'  Large-hearted !     Grant  you  are  not  going  to  permit 

such  a  thing  ?' 

'  I  am  no  better  than  other  men,'  said  the  doctor ;  'and 
have  no  more  defences.' 

'  But  it  is  Daisy  that  wants  the  defences,'  Mrs.  Sand- 
ford  cried ;  '  it  is  she  that  is  running  into  danger.' 

'She  shall  want  no  defences  while  she  is  in  my 
hospital.' 

'  It  is  very  well  to  say ;  but  if  you  let  her  in  there,  you 
cannot  help  it.     She  must  be  in  danger,  of  all  sorts  of 
harm.' 
27* 


318  DAISY. 

*  If  you  will  prevent  it,  Mrs.  Sandford,  you  will  lay 
me  under  obligations,'  said  the  doctor,  sitting  down  and 
looking  up  at  his  sister-in-law  somewhat  comically.     '  I 
am  helpless,  for  I  have  passed  my  word.     Daisy  has  the 
command.' 

'  But  just  look  at  the  figure  she  is,  in  that  dress ! 
Fancy  it !  That  is  Miss  Randolph.' 

The  doctor  glanced  up  and  down,  over  my  dress,  and 
his  eye  turned  to  Mrs.  Sandford  with  provoking  un 
concern. 

*  But  you  will  not  let  her  stay  there,  Grant  ?' 

The  doctor  looked  up  at  me  now,  and  I  saw  an  an 
swer  ready  on  his  lips.  There  was  but  one  way  left  for 
me,  I  thought ;  I  do  not  know  how  I  came  to  do  it,  but  I 
was  not  Daisy  that  morning ;  or  else  my  energies  were 
all  strung  up  to  a  state  of  tension  that  made  Daisy  a  dif 
ferent  person  from  her  wont.  I  laid  my  hand  lightly 
over  the  doctor's  mouth  before  he  could  speak.  It  silenced 
him,  as  I  hoped.  He  rose  up  with  a  look  that  shewed 
me  I  had  conquered,  and  asked  if  I  were  ready.  He 
must  go,  he  said. 

I  did  not  keep  him  waiting.  And  once  out  in  the 
street,  with  my  hand  on  his  arm,  I  was  quite  Daisy 
again  ;  as  humble  and  quiet  as  ever  in  my  life.  I  went 
like  a  child  now,  in  my  guardian's  hand ;  through  the 
little  crowds  of  men  collected  here  and  there,  past  the 
sentinels  at  the  hospital  door,  in  through  the  wide,  clean, 
quiet  halls  and  rooms,  where  Dr.  Sandford's  authority 
and  system  made  everything  work,  I  afterwards  found, 
as  by  the  perfection  of  machinery.  Through  one  ward 
and  another  at  last,  where  the  rows  of  beds,  each  contain 
ing  its  special  sufferer,  the  rows  of  faces,  of  various  ex 
pression,  that  watched  us  from  the  beds,  the  attendants 
and  nurses  and  the  work  that  was  going  on  by  their 
hands,  caused  me  to  draw  a  little  closer  to  the  arm  on 


THE    WOUNDED.  319 

which  I  leaned  and  to  feel  yet  more  like  a  weak  child. 
Yet  even  then,  even  at  that  moment,  the  woman  within 
me  began  to  rise  and  put  down  the  feeling  of  childish 
weakness.  I  began  to  be  strong. 

Out  of  the  wards,  into  his  own  particular  room  and 
office,  comfortable  enough,  Dr.  Sandford  brought  me 
then.  He  gave  me  a  chair,  and  poured  me  out  a  glass 
of  wine. 

1  No,  thank  you,'  said  I  smiling.     '  I  do  not  need  it.' 

'You  are  pale.' 

1  That  is  womanish ;  but  I  am  not  weak  or  faint, 
though.' 

'  Do  you  maintain  your  purpose  ?' 

'Yes,  certainly.' 

'  You  had  better  take  off  your  bonnet  and  shawl  then. 
You  would  find  them  in  the  way.' 

I  obeyed,  and  went  on  to  envelope  myself  in  my  apron. 
Dr.  Sandford  looked  on  grimly.  Very  ill  pleased  he 
was,  I  could  see.  But  then  I  laid  my  hand  on  his  arm 
and  looked  at  him. 

'  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you  for  this,'  I  said  earn 
estly.  And  his  face  softened. 

'  I  am  afraid  it  is  wrong  in  me,'  he  remarked. 

*  If  you  thought  it  was,  you  would  not  do  it,'  I  an 
swered  ;  '  and  I  hope  I  should  not  ask  it.  I  am  ready 
now.  But  Dr.  Sandford,  I  want  teaching,  as  to  what  I 
ought  to  do.  Who  will  teach  me?' 

'  I  will  teach  you.  But  you  know  how  to  give  a  sick 
man  tea  or  soup,  I  fancy,  without  much  teaching.' 

'There  are  other  things,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

'  It  will  not  be  necessary.  There  are  others  to  do  the 
other  things.  Capt.  Gary  has  only  some  simple  wounds 
to  be  dressed.' 

'  But  there  are  others,  Dr.  Sandford  ?  And  I  must 
know  how  to  do  all  that  the  nurses  do.  I  am  not  here 


320  DAISY. 

to  be  in  the  way.  I  am  not  going  to  take  care  of  my 
cousin  only.' 

1  There  is  enough  to  do,'  said  the  doctor;  'but,  you 
will  not  like  it,  Daisy/ 

Something  in  his  wistful  look  at  me,  something  in  the 
contrast  between  merely  seeing  what  he  was  afraid  I 
should  see,  and  the  suffering  itself  which  by  the  sufferers 
had  to  be  borne,  touched  me  keenly.  My  eyes  filled  as 
I  looked  at  the  doctor,  but  I  think  the  purpose  in  my 
heart  perhaps  came  out  in  my  face;  for  his  own  sud 
denly  changed,  and  with  a  'Come,  then!' — he  gave  me 
his  arm  and  led  the  way  upstairs  and  into  another  suc 
cession  of  rooms,  to  the  ward  and  the  room  where  my 
cousin  Preston  lay. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE     HOSPITAL. 

A  CLEAN,  quiet,  airy  room,  like  all  the  rest ;  like  all 
the  rest  filled  with  rows  of  beds,  the  occupants  of  which 
had  come  from  the  stir  of  the  fight  and  the  bustle 
of  the  march,  to  lie  here  and  be  still ;  from  doing 
to  suffering.  How  much  the  harder  work,  I  thought ; 
and  if  it  be  well  done,  how  much  the  nobler.  And  all 
who  know  the  way  in  which  our  boys  did  it,  will  bear 
witness  to  their  great  nobleness.  Patient,  and  strong, 
and  brave,  where  there  was  no  excitement  to  cheer,  nor 
spectators  to  applaud ;  their  fortitude  and  their  patience 
and  their  generous  self-devotion  never  failed  nor  faltered, 
when  all  adventitious  or  real  helps  and  stimulants  were 
withdrawn,  and  patriotism  and  bravery  stood  alone. 

From  the  turn  of  Dr.  Sandford's  head,  I  knew  on 
which  side  I  might  look  to  see  Preston ;  and  as  we  slowly 
passed  up  the  long  line  of  beds,  I  scanned  breathlessly 
each  face.  Old  and  young,  grim  and  fair,  gentle  and 
rough;  it  was  a  variety.  And  then  I  saw,  I  should 
hardly  have  known  it,  a  pale  face  with  a  dark  moustache 
and  a  thick  head  of  dark,  glossy  hair,  which  was  luxu 
riant  yet,  although  it  had  been  cropped.  His  eyes  were 
closed  as  we  came  up  ;  opened  as  wre  paused  by  his  bed 
side,  and  opened  very  wide  indeed  as  he  looked  from  the 
doctor  to  me. 

'  How  do  you  do,  this  morning,  Gary  ?'  said  my  con 
ductor. 

V  321 


322  DAISY. 

'Confoundedly — '  was  the  somewhat  careless  answer, 
made  while  examining  my  face. 

'  You  see  who  has  come  to  look  after  you?' 

1  It  isn't  Daisy !'  he  cried. 

'  How  do  you  do,  Preston  ?'  I  said,  taking  hold  of  the 
hand  which  lay  upon  the  coverlid.  He  drew  the  hand 
hastily  away,  half  raising  himself  on  his  elbow. 

'  What  have  you  come  here  for  ?'  he  asked. 

'  I  have  come  to  take  care  of  you/ 

'  You,'  said  Preston.  'In  this  place!  Where  is 
mamma?' 

'  Aunt  Gary  is  far  away  from  here.  She  could  not  get 
to  you.' 

'  But  you,  you  were  in  Switzerland.' 

'Not  since  last  May.' 

'  Lie  down,  Gary,  and  take  it  quietly,'  said  Dr.  Sand- 
ford  putting  his  hand  on  his  shoulder.  Preston  scowled 
and  submitted,  without  taking  his  eyes  from  my  face. 

'  You  are  not  glad  to  see  me  ?'  I  asked,  feeling  his 
manner  a  little  awkward. 

'  Of  course  not.  You  ought  not  to  be  in  this  place. 
What  have  you  got  on  that  rig  for  ?' 

'What  rig?' 

'That!  I  suppose  you  don't  dress  so  at  home,  do  you? 
You  didn't  use  it.  Hey?  what  is  it  for?' 

'  It  is  that  I  may  be  properly  dressed.  Home  things 
would  be  out  of  place  here.' 

'  Yes ;  so  I  think,'  said  Preston ;  '  and  you  most  of  all. 
Where  is  Aunt  Kandolph  ?' 

'  You  do  not  seem  very  grateful,  Gary,'  said  the  doctor, 
who  all  this  while  stood  by  with  an  impenetrable  coun 
tenance. 

'Grateful— for  what?' 

'  For  your  cousin's  affection  and  kindness,  which  has 
come  here  to  look  after  you.' 


THE    HOSPITAL.  323 

*  I  am  not  grateful,'  said  Preston.     '  I  shall  not  have 
her  stay.' 

*  What  has  brought  you  here,  Preston  ?'  I  asked  by  way 
of  diversion. 

'Me?  Powder.  It's  an  infernal  invention.  If  one 
could  fight  with  steel,  there  would  be  some  fun  in  it.  But 
powder  has  no  respect  of  persons.' 

1  How  has  it  hurt  you?'  I  asked.  I  had  somehow 
never  chosen  to  put  the  question  to  Dr.  Sandford ;  I  can 
hardly  tell  why.  Now  it  was  time  to  know.  Preston's 
eye  fell  on  me  with  sudden  gentleness. 

'Daisy,  go  away,'  he  said.  'You  have  no  business 
here.  It  is  of  all  places  no  place  for  you.  Go  away, 
and  don't  come  again.' 

*  Dr.  Sandford,'  said  I,  '  will  you  take  me  with  you  and 
give  me  my  lesson  ?    That  is  the  first  thing.    I  must  earn 
my  right  to  the  place,  it  seems.' 

The  doctor  looked  at  me  in  his  turn ;  I  avoided  the 
eye  of  Preston.  He  looked  at  me  in  a  way  not  hard  to 
read ;  quite  agreeing  with  Preston  in  wishing  me  away, 
but,  I  saw  also,  respecting  my  qualifications  for  the  work 
I  had  come  to  do.  I  saw  that  he  gave  me  a  great  rev 
erence  on  account  of  it;  but  then,  Dr.  Sandford  always 
gave  me  more  reverence  than  belonged  to  me.  I  made 
use  of  this,  and  held  my  advantage.  And  the  doctor 
seeing  that  I  was  calmly  in  earnest,  even  took  me  at  my 
word. 

We  began  a  progress  through  the  ward ;  during  which 
every  man's  condition  was  inquired  into;  wounds  ex 
amined  and  dressed  ;  and  course  of  treatment  prescribed. 
I  looked  on  at  first  as  a  mere  spectator;  bearing  the 
revelation  of  pain  and  suffering  with  all  the  fortitude  I 
could  muster ;  but  I  found  in  a  little  while  that  it  would 
overmaster  me  if  I  continued  an  idle  looker-on  ;  and  put 
ting  aside  the  attendant  nurse  at  last  with  a  whisper  to 


324  DAISY. 

which  she  yielded,  I  offered  myself  quietly  in  her  place 
to  do  her  work.  Dr.  Sandford  glanced  at  me  then,  but 
made  no  remark  whatever ;  suffering  me  to  do  my  pleasure, 
and  employing  me  as  if  I  had  been  there  for  a  month. 
He  began  to  give  me  directions  too.  It  seemed  a  long 
age  of  feeling  and  experience,  the  time  while  we  were 
passing  through  the  ward ;  yet  Dr.  Sandford  was  ex 
tremely  quick  and  quiet  in  his  work,  and  lost  no  seconds 
by  unnecessary  delay.  Even  I  could  see  that.  He  was 
kind,  too ;  never  harsh,  though  very  firm  in  his  authority 
and  thorough  in  his  business*  I  could  not  help  an  un 
conscious  admiration  for  him  growing  as  we  went  on. 
That  steady,  strong  blue  eye ;  what  a  thing  it  was  for 
doubt  and  fear  to  rest  on.  I  saw  how  doubt  and  fear 
rested.  I  thought  I  did ;  though  the  bearing  of  all  the 
sufferers  there  was  calm  and  self-contained  to  an  admir 
able  degree.  It  was  so,  I  heard,  with  all  our  soldiers 
everywhere. 

We  came  round,  last  of  all,  to  Preston's  couch  again  ; 
and  the  doctor  paused.  He  glanced  at  me  again  for  the 
first  time  in  a  long  while.  I  do  not  know  how  I  trembled 
inwardly ;  outwardly,  I  am  sure,  I  did  not  flinch.  His 
eye  went  to  Preston, 

1  Do  you  see,  you  are  to  have  a  better  nurse  than  you 
deserve  ?'  he  said. 

'  It  is  disgusting  !'  Preston  muttered. 

'Some  things  are,'  answered  the  doctor;  'not  a  brave 
woman,  or  a  gentle  man.' 

'Send  Daisy  away  from  this  place.  You  know  she 
ought  not  to  be  here;  and  you  can  forbid  it.' 

'  You  overstate  my  power,  my  friend,'  said  the  doctor. 
'  Shall  we  see  how  you  are  getting  along  to-day/ 

Preston's  eye  came  to  me  again,  silently,  with  reluc 
tance  and  regret  in  it.  I  was  touched  more  than  I  chose 
to  shew,  and  more  than  it  was  safe  to  think  about 


THE  HOSPITAL.  325 

'  Does  she  know  ?'  he  asked. 

'She  does  not  know.  Your  cousin,  Miss  Kandolph, 
has  given  one  of  his  arms  for  his  cherished  cause/ 

'  And  one  of  my  legs  too/  said  Preston.  '  If  it  would 
do  the  cause  any  good,  I  would  not  care ;  but  what  good 
does  it  do  ?  That's  what  I  don't  like  about  powder.' 

I  had  much  ado  to  stand  this  communication.  The 
work  of  examining  and  dressing  Preston's  wounds,  how 
ever,  immediately  began  ;  and  in  the  effort  to  do  my  part, 
as  usual,  I  found  the  best  relief  for  overstrained  nerves. 
I  think  some  tears  fell  upon  the  bandages ;  but  no  word 
of  remark  was  made  by  either  physician  or  patient,  till 
the  whole  business  was  concluded.  Dr.  Sandford  then 
carried  me  off  to  a  nice,  warm,  comfortable  apartment, 
which  he  told  me  I  might  always  hold  as  my  own  when 
ever  I  had  time  to  be  there ;  he  seated  me  in  a  chair,  and 
a  second  time  poured  me  out  a  glass  of  wine,  which  he 
took  from  a  cupboard. 

'  I  do  not  drink  it,'  I  said  shaking  my  head. 

'Yes,  you  do, — to-day.' 

'I  never  drink  it,'  I  said.  'I  cannot  touch  it,  Dr. 
Sandford.' 

'  You  must  take  something.  What  is  the  matter  with 
the  wine  ?  Is  it  disagreeable  to  you  ?' 

'  I  will  not  help  anybody  else  drink  it,'  I  said,  looking 
at  him  and  forcing  a  smile ;  for  I  was  tired  and  very 
sick  at  heart. 

'  Nobody  will  know  you  take  it.' 

'  Not  if  I  do  not  take  it.     They  will  if  I  do/ 

'  Are  you  going  upon  that  old  childish  plan  of  yours  ?' 
said  the  doctor,  sitting  down  beside  me  and  looking  with 
a  wistful  kind  of  tenderness  into  my  face.  '  Are  you 
bent  still  upon  living  for  other  people,  Daisy  ?' 

'  You  know,  the  Master  I  follow  did  so ;  and  his  ser 
vants  must  be  like  him,'  I  said,  and  I  felt  my  smile  was 

VOL.  ii.— 28 


326  DAISY. 

stronger  and  brighter  this  time.  Dr .  Sandford  arose, 
summoned  an  attendant  and  sent  him  off  for  a  cup  of  tea 
for  me ;  then  saw  me  take  it. 

1  Now,'  said  he,  '  are  you  fixed  in  the  plan  of  devoting 
yourself  to  the  care  of  this  ungracious  cousin  ?' 

'  Of  him,  and  of  others,'  I  said. 

1  He  does  not  deserve  it.' 

*  Suppose  we  waited  to  give  people  their  deserts,  Dr. 
Sandford  ?' 

'  Some  people  deserve  to  be  allowed  to  take  care  of 
you,'  said  the  doctor,  getting  up  and  beginning  to  pace 
up  and  down  the  floor.  '  They  deserve  it ;  and  find  it 
hard  work  ;  or  denied  them  altogether.' 

'You  do  take  care  of  me,'  I  said  gratefully.  'You 
always  did,  Dr.  Sandford.  You  are  doing  it  now ;  and  I 
am  thanking  you  all  the  time  in  my  heart.' 

'  Well,'  said  he  abruptly,  standing  still  before  me, — 
'  you  are  one  of  those  who  are  born  to  command ;  and  in 
your  case  I  always  find  I  have  to  obey.  This  room  you 
will  use  as  you  please ;  no  one  will  share  it  with  you ; 
and  you  need  a  retiring-place  for  a  breath  of  rest  when 
you  can  get  it.  I  shall  see  you  constantly,  as  I  am  going 
out  and  in ;  and  anything  you  want  you  will  tell  me.  But 
you  will  not  like  it,  Daisy.  You  can  stand  the  sight  of 
blood,  like  other  women,  whose  tenderness  makes  them 
strong ;  but  you  will  not  like  some  other  things.  You 
will  not  like  the  way  you  will  have  to  take  your  meals  in 
this  place.' 

I  had  finished  my  cup  of  tea,  and  now  stood  up  to  let 
the  doctor  take  me  back  to  my  place  beside  Preston ; 
which  he  did  without  any  more  words.  And  there  he 
left  me ;  and  I  sat  down  to  consider  my  work  and  my 
surroundings.  My  cousin  had  forgotten  his  impatience 
in  sleep  ;  and  there  was  a  sort  of  lull  in  the  business  of 
the  ward  at  that  hour. 


THE  HOSPITAL.  327 

I  found  in  a  few  minutes  that  it  was  a  great  comfort 
to  me  to  be  there.  Not  since  papa's  death,  had  so  peace 
ful  a  sense  of  full  hands  and  earnest  living  crept  into  my 
heart.  My  thoughts  flew  once  or  twice  to  Mr.  Thorold, 
but  I  called  them  back  as  soon ;  I  could  not  bear  that ; 
while  at  the  same  time  I  felt  I  was  nearer  to  him  here 
than  anywhere  else.  And  my  thoughts  were  very  soon 
called  effectually  home  from  my  own  special  concerns, 
by  seeing  that  the  tenant  of  one  of  the  neighbouring 
beds  was  restless  arid  suffering  from  fever.  A  strong, 
fine-looking  man,  flushed  and  nervous  on  a  fever  bed, 
in  helpless  inactivity,  with  the  contrast  of  life  ener 
gies  all  at  work  and  effectively  used  only  a  little  while 
ago,  in  the  camp  and  the  battlefield.  Now  lying  here. 
His  fever  proceeded  from  his  wounds,  I  knew,  for  I  had 
seen  them  dressed.  I  went  to  him  and  laid  my  hand  on 
his  forehead.  I  wonder  what  and  how  much  there  can 
be  in  the  touch  of  a  hand.  It  quieted  him,  like  a  charm  ; 
and  after  a  while,  a  fan  and  a  word  or  two  now  and  then 
were  enough  for  his  comfort.  I  did  not  seem  to  be  Daisy 
Randolph ;  I  was  just  the  hospital  nurse ;  and  my  use 
was  to  minister;  and  the  joy  .of  ministering  was  very 
great. 

From  my  fever  patient  I  was  called  to  others,  who 
wanted  many  various  things  ;  it  was  a  good  while  before 
I  got  round  to  Preston  again.  Meanwhile,  I  was  secretly 
glad  to  find  out  that  I  was  gaining  fast  ground  in  the 
heart  of  the  other  nurse  of  the  ward,  who  had  at  first 
looked  upon  me  with  great  doubt  and  mistrust  on  account 
of  my  age  and  appearance.  She  was  a  clever,  energetic 
New  England  woman  ;  efficient  and  helpful  as  it  was 
possible  to  be ;  thin  and  wiry,  but  quiet,  and  full  of  sense 
and  kindliness.  With  a  consciousness  of  her  growing 
favour  upon  me,  I  came  at  last  to  Preston's  bedside  again. 
He  looked  anything  but  amicable. 


328  DAISY. 

'Where  is  Aunt  Randolph?'  were  his  first  words, 
uttered  with  very  much  the  manner  of  a  growl.  I  replied 
that  I  had  left  her  in  New  York. 

'  I  shall  write  to  her,'  said  Preston.  '  How  came  she 
to  do  such  an  absurd  thing  as  to  let  you  come  here  ?  and 
whom  did  you  come  with  ?  Did  you  come  alone  ?' 

1  Not  at  all.     I  came  with  proper  company.' 

1  Proper  company  wouldn't  have  brought  you,'  Preston 
growled. 

'  I  think  you  want  something  to  eat,  Preston,'  I  said. 
'  You  will  feel  better  when  you  have  had  some  refresh 
ment.' 

It  was  just  the  time  for  a  meal  and  I  saw  the  supplies 
coming  in.  And  Preston's  refreshment,  as  well  as  that 
of  some  others,  I  attended  to  myself.  I  think  he  found 
it  pleasant ;  for  although  some  growls  waited  upon  me 
even  in  the  course  of  my  ministering  to  him,  I  heard  from 
that  time  no  more  remonstrances ;  and  I  am  sure  Preston 
never  wrote  his  letter.  A  testimonial  of  a  different  sort 
was  conveyed  in  his  whispered  request  to  me,  not  to  let 
that  horrid  Yankee  spinster  come  near  him  again. 

But  Miss  Yates  was  a  good  friend  to  me. 

*  You  are  looking  a  little  pale,'  she  said  to  me  at  even 
ing.  '  Go  and  lie  down  a  spell.  All's  done  up ;  you  ain't 
wanted  now,  and  you  may  be,  for  anything  anybody  can 
tell,  before  an  hour  is  gone.  Just  you  go  away  and  get 
some  rest.  It's  been  your  first  day.  And  the  first  day's 
rather  tough.' 

I  told  her  I  did  not  feel  tired.  But  she  insisted ;  and 
I  yielded  so  far  as  to  go  and  lie  down  for  a  while  in  the 
room  which  Dr.  Sandford  had  given  to  me.  When  I 
came  back,  I  met  Miss  Yates  near  the  door  of  the  room. 
I  asked  her  if  there  were  any  serious  cases  in  the  ward 
just  then. 

'  La !  half  of  'em's  serious,'  said  she ;  c  if  you  mean  by 


THE  HOSPITAL.  329 

that  they  might  take  a  wrong  turn  and  go  off.    You  never 
can  tell/ 

'  But  afe  there  any  in  immediate  danger,  do  you  think  ?' 

She  searched  my  face  before  she  answered. 

'  How  come  you  to  be  so  strong,  and  so  young,  and  so 
— well,  so  unlike  all  this  sort  of  thing  ?  Have  you  ever, 
no  you  never  have,  seen  much  of  sickness  and  death,  and 
thatr 

'No;  not  much.' 

'  Bui,  you  look  as  calm  as  a  field  of  white  clover.  I 
beg  your  pardon,  my  dear ;  it's  like  you.  And  you  ain't 
one  of  the  India  rubber  sort,  neither.  I  am  glad  you 
ain't,  too ;  I  don't  think  that  sort  is  fit  to  be  nurses  or 
anything  else.' 

She  looked  at  me  inquiringly. 

'  Miss  Yates,'  I  said,  '  I  love  Jesus.  I  am  a  servant 
of  Christ.  I  like  to  do  whatever  my  Lord  gives  me  to 
do.' 

'Oh!'  said  she.  'Well  I  ain't.  I  sometimes  wish  I 
was.  But  it  comes  handy  now,  for  there's  a  man  down 
there — he  ain't  a  going  to  live,  and  he  knows  it,  and  he's 
kind  o'  worried  about  it ;  and  I  can't  say  nothing  to  him. 
Maybe  you  can.  I've  written  his  letters  for  him,  and  all 
that;  but  he's  just  uneasy.' 

I  asked,  and  she  told  me,  which  bed  held  this  sick 
man,  who  would  soon  be  a  dying  one.  I  walked  slowly 
down  the  ward,  thinking  of  this  new  burden  of  life-work 
that  was  laid  upon  me  and  how  to  meet  it.  My  very 
heart  sank.  I  was  so  helpless.  And  rose  too ;  for  I  re 
membered  that  our  Redeemer  is  strong.  What  could 
I  do? 

I  stood  by  the  man's  side.  He  was  thirsty  and  I  gave 
him  lemonade.  His  eye  met  mine  as  his  lips  left  the 
cup ;  an  eye  of  unrest. 

'  Are  you  comfortable  ?'  I  asked. 

28* 


330  DAISY. 

I  As  much  as  I  can  be.' — It  was  a  restless  answer. 

*  Can't  you  think  of  Jesus,  and  rest?'  I  asked,  bending 
over  him.     His  eye  darted  to  mine  with  a  strange  ex 
pression  of  inquiry  and  pain ;  but  it  was  all  the  answer 
he  made. 

'  There  is  rest  at  his  feet  for  all  who  trust  in  him  ; — - 
rest  in  his  arms  for  all  who  love  him.' 

I 1  am  not  the  one  or  the  other,'  he  said  shortly. 

I  But  you  may  be/ 

I 1  reckon  not, — at  this  time  of  day,'  he  said. 

*  Any  time  of  day  will  do,'  I  said  tenderly. 

'  I  guess  not,'  said  he.  '  One  cannot  do  anything  lying 
here — and  I  sha'n't  lie  here  much  longer,  either.  There's 
no  time  now  to  do  anything.' 

1  There  is  nothing  to  do,  dear  friend,  but  to  give  your 
heart  and  trust  to  the  Lord  who  died  for  you— who  loves 
you — who  invites  you — who  will  wash  away  your  sins  for 
his  own  sake,  in  his  own  blood,  which  he  shed  for  you. 
Jesus  has  died  for  you ;  you  shall  not  die,  if  you  will  put 
your  trust  in  him.' 

He  looked  at  me,  turned  his  head  away  restlessly, 
turned  it  back  again,  and  said, 

1  That  won't  do.' 

'Why?' 

'  I  don't  believe  in  wicked  people  going  to  heaven.' 

*  Jesus  came  to  save  wicked  people ;  just  them.' 
'They've  got  to  be  good,  though,   betbre  they' — he 

paused, — 'go  to  his  place.' 

'  Jesus  will  make  you  good,  if  you  will  let  him.' 

'What  chance  is  there,  lying  here;  and  only  a  few 
minutes  at  that  ?' 

He  spoke  almost  bitterly,  but  I  saw  the  drops  of  sweat 
standing  on  his  brow,  brought  there  by  the  intensity  of 
feeling.  I  felt  as  if  my  heart  would  have  broken. 

'  As  much  chance  here  as  anywhere,'  I  answered  calmly. 


THE  HOSPITAL.  331 

'  The  heart  is  the  place  for  reform ;  outward  work,  without 
the  heart,  signifies  nothing  at  all ;  and  if  the  heart  of  love 
and  obedience  is  in  any  man,  God  knows  that  the  life 
would  follow,  if  there  were  opportunity.' 

'  Yes.     I  haven't  it/  he  said  looking  at  me. 

*  You  may  have  it.' 

'  I  tell  you,  you  are  talking — you  don't  know  of  what/ 
he  said  vehemently. 

'I  know  all  about  it/  I  answered  softly. 

1  There  is  no  love  nor  obedience  in  me/  he  repeated, 
searching  my  eyes,  as  if  to  see  whether  there  were  any 
thing  to  be  said  to  that. 

1  No ;  you  are  sick  at  heart,  and  dying,  unless  you  can 
be  cured.  Can  you  trust  Jesus  to  cure  you  ?  They  that 
be  whole  need  not  a  physician,  he  ^ays,  but  those  that  are 
sick.' 

He  was  silent,  gazing  at  me. 

'  Can  you  lay  your  heart,  just  as  it  is,  at  Jesus'  feet, 
and  ask  him  to  take  it  and  make  it  right?  He  says, 
Come.' 

'What  must /do?' 
Trust  him.' 

'  But  you  are  mistaken/  he  said.     '  I  am  not  good.' 

'  No/  said  I ;  and  then  I  know  I  could  not  keep  back 
the  tears  from  springing ; — '  Jesus  did  not  come  to  save 
the  good.  He  came  to  save  you.  He  bids  you  trust  him, 
and  your  sins  shall  be  forgiven,  for  he  gave  his  life  for 
yours ;  and  he  bids  you  come  to  him,  and  he  will  take  all 
that  is  wrong  away,  and  make  you  clean.' 

'  Come  ?' — the  sick  man  repeated. 

'  With  your  heart — to  his  feet.  Give  yourself  to  him. 
He  is  here,  though  you  do  not  see  him.' 

The  man  shut  his  eyes,  with  a  weary  sort  of  expression 
overspreading  his  features ;  and  remained  silent.  After 
a  little  while  he  said  slowly — 


332  DAISY. 

'  I  think — I  have  heard — such  things — once.  It  is  a 
great  while  ago.  I  don't  think  I  know — what  it  means/ 

Yet  the  face  looked  weary  and  worn ;  and  for  me,  I 
stood  beside  him  and  my  tears  dripped  like  a  summer 
shower.  Like  the  first  of  the  shower,  as  somebody  says ; 
the  pressure  at  my  heart  was  too  great  to  let  them  flow. 
O  life,  and  death !  O  message  of  mercy,  and  deaf  ears ! 

0  open  door  of  salvation,  and  feet  that  stumble  at  the 
threshold  !     After  a  time  his  eyes  opened. 

*  What  are  you  doing  there  ?'  he  said  vaguely. 

*  I  am  praying  for  you,  dear  friend/ 

1  Praying  ?'  said  he.  '  Pray  so  that  I  can  hear  you.' 
I  was  well  startled  at  this.  I  had  prayed  with  papa ; 
with  no  other,  and  before  no  other,  in  all  my  life.  And 
here  were  rows  of  becjs  on  all  sides  of  me,  wide-awake 
careless  eyes  in  some  of  their  occupants  ;  nurses  and  at 
tendants  moving  about;  no  privacy;  no  absolute  still 
ness.  I  thought  I  could  not ;  then  I  knew  I  must ;  and 
then  all  other  things  faded  into  insignificance  before  the 
work  Jesus  came  to  do  and  had  given  me  to  help.  I 
knelt  down,  not  without  hands  and  face  growing  cold  in 
the  effort ;  but  as  soon  as  I  was  once  fairly  speaking  to  my 
Lord,  I  ceased  to  think  or  care  who  else  was  listening  to 
me.  There  was  a  deep  stillness  around ;  I  knew  that ; 
the  attendants  paused  in  their  movements,  and  words  and 
work  I  think  were  suspended  during  the  few  minutes 
when  I  was  on  my  knees.  When  I  got  up,  the  sick 
man's  eyes  were  closed.  I  sat  down  with  my  face  in  my 
hands,  feeling  as  if  I  had  received  a  great  wrench ;  but 
presently  Miss  Yates  came  with  a  whispered  request  that 

1  would  do  something  that  was  required  just  then  for 
somebody.     Work  set  me  all  right  very  soon.    But  when 
after  a  while  I  came  round  to  Preston  again,  I  found 
him  in  a  rage. 

'What  has  come  over  you?'  he  said,  looking  at  me 


THE  HOSPITAL. 

with  a  complication  of  frowns.  I  was  at  a  loss  for  the 
reason,  and  requested  him  to  explain  himself. 

'  You  are  not  Daisy!'  he  said.  'I  do  not  know  you 
any  more.  What  has  happened  to  you  ?' 

'  What  do  you  mean,  Preston  ?' 

'Mean!'  said  he  with  a  fling.  'What  do  you  mean? 
I  don't  know  you.' 

I  thought  this  paroxysm  might  as  well  pass  off  by 
itself,  like  another ;  and  I  kept  quiet. 

'What  were  you  doing  just  now,'  said  he  savagely, 
'by  that  soldier's  bedside?' 

'That  soldier?     He  is  a  dying  man,  Preston.' 

'  Let  him  die !'  he  cried.  '  What  is  that  to  you  ?  You 
are  Daisy  Randolph.  Do  you  remember  whose  daughter 
you  are?  You  making  a  spectacle  of  yourself,  for  a 
hundred  to  look  at!' 

But  this  shot  quite  overreached  its  mark.  Preston  saw 
it  had  not  touched  me. 

'  You  did  not  use  to  be  so  bold,'  he  began  again.  '  You 
were  delicate  to  an  exquisite  fault.  I  would  never  have 
believed  that  you  would  have  done  anything  unwomanly. 
What  has  taken  possession  of  you  ?' 

'I  should  like  to  take  possession  of  you  just  now, 
Preston,  and  keep  you  quiet,'  I  said.  'Look  here, — 
your  tea  is  coming.  Suppose  you  wait  till  you  under 
stand  things  a  little  better ;  and  now — let  me  give  you 
this.  I  am  sure  Dr.  Sandford  would  bid  you  be  quiet ; 
and  in  his  name,  I  do.' 

Preston  fumed;  but  I  managed  to  stop  his  mouth; 
and  then  I  left  him,  to  attend  to  other  people.  But  when 
all  was  done,  and  the  ward  was  quiet,  I  stood  at  the  foot 
of  the  dying  man's  bed,  thinking,  what  could  I  do  more 
for  him  ?  His  face  looked  weary  and  anxious ;  his  eye 
rested,  I  saw,  on  me,  but  without  comfort  in  it.  What 
could  I  say,  that  I  had  not  said  ?  or  how  could  I  reach 


334  DAISY. 

him  ?  Then,  I  do  not  know  how  the  thought  struck  me, 
but  I  knew  what  to  do. 

'My  dear,'  said  Miss  Yates  touching  my  shoulder, 
'hadn't  you  better  give  up  for  to-night?  You  are  a 
young  hand ;  you  ain't  seasoned  to  it  yet ;  you'll  give 
out  if  you  don't  look  sharp.  Suppose  you  quit  for  to 
night.' 

'  O  no !'  I  said  hastily — '  O  no,  I  cannot.     I  cannot.' 

'  Well  sit  down,  any  way,  before  you  can't  stand.  It 
is  just  as  cheap  sittin'  as  standin/ 

I  sat  down ;  she  passed  on  her  way ;  the  place  was 
quiet ;  only  there  were  uneasy  breaths  that  came  and  went 
near  me.  Then  I  opened  my  mouth  and  sang — 

"  There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood, 

"  Drawn  from  Immanuel's  veins  ; 
"And  sinners  plunged  beneath  that  flood, 

"  Lose  all  their  guilty  stains." 

"  The  dying  thief  rejoiced  to  see 

"  That  fountain  in  his  day ; 
"And  there  may  I,  as  vile  as  he, 

"Wash  all  my  sins  away." 

I  sang  it  to  a  sweet  simple  air,  in  which  the  last  lines 
are  repeated  and  repeated  and  drawn  out  in  all  their 
sweetness.  The  ward  was  as  still  as  death.  I  never  felt 
such  joy  that  I  could  sing;  for  I  knew  the  words  went 
to  the  furthest  corner  and  distinctly,  though  I  was 
not  raising  my  voice  beyond  a  very  soft  pitch.  The 
stillness  lasted  after  I  stopped ;  then  some  one  near  spoke 
out — 

'Oh  go  on!' 

And  I  thought  the  silence  asked  me.  But  what  to 
sing  ?  that  was  the  difficulty.  It  had  need  be  something 
so  very  simple  in  the  wording,  so  very  comprehensive  in 


THE  HOSPITAL.  335 

the  sense;  something  to  tell  the  truth,  and  to  tell  it 
quick,  and  the  whole  truth  ;  what  should  it  be?  Hymn* 
came  up  to  me,  loved  and  sweet,  but  too  partial  in  their 
application,  or  presupposing  too  much  knowledge  of  re 
ligious  things.  My  mind  wandered ;  and  then  of  a  sud 
den  floated  to  me  the  refrain  that  I  had  heard  and  learned 
when  a  child,  long  ago,  from  the  lips  of  Mr.  Dinwiddie, 
in  the  little  chapel  at  Melbourne ;  and  with  all  the  ten 
derness  of  the  old  time  and  the  new  it  sprung  from  my 
heart  and  lips  now — 

"In  evil  long  I  took  delight, 

"  Unawed  by  shame  or  fear ; 
"Till  a  new  object  struck  my  sight, 

"And  stopped  my  wild  career. 

•* 

"O  the  Lamb — the  loving  Lamb! 

"The  Lamb  on  Calvary! 
"The  Lamb  that  was  slain,  but  lives  again, 

"  To  intercede  for  me." 

How  grand  it  was!  But  for  the  grandeur  and  the 
sweetness  of  the  message  I  was  bringing,  I  should  have 
broken  down  a  score  of  times. 

As  it  was,  I  poured  my  tears  into  my  song,  and  wept 
them  into  the  melody.  But  other  tears,  I  knew,  were 
not  so  contained ;  in  intervals  I  heard  low  sobbing  in 
more  than  one  part  of  the  room.  I  had  no  time  to  sing 
another  hymn  before  Dr.  Sandford  came  in.  I  was  very 
glad  he  had  not  been  five  minutes  earlier. 

I  followed  him  round  the  ward,  seeking  to  acquaint 
myself  as  fast  as  possible  with  whatever  might  help  to 
make  me  useful  there.  Dr.  Sandford  attended  only  to 
business  and  not  to  me,  till  the  whole  round  was  gone 
through.  Then  he  said, 

'  You  will  let  me  take  you  home  now,  I  hope.' 

'  I  am  at  home,'  I  answered. 


$36  DAISY. 

'Even  so,'  said  he  smiling.  'You  will  let  me  take 
you  from  home  then,  to  the  place  my  sister  dwells  in.' 

'  No,  Dr.  Sandford ;  and  you  do  not  expect  it.' 

'  I  have  some  reason  to  know  what  to  expect,  by  this 
time.  Will  you  not  do  it  at  my  earnest  request?  not  for 
your  sake,  but  for  mine  ?  There  is  presumption  for  you !' 

'  No,  Dr.  Sandford ;  it  is  not  presumption,  and  I  thank 
you;  but  I  cannot.  I  cannot,  Dr.  Sandford.  I  am 
wanted  here.' 

'  Yes,  so  you  will  be  to-morrow.' 

'  I  will  be  here  to-morrow.' 

'  But  Daisy,  this  is  unaccustomed  work ;  and  you  can 
not  bear  it,  no  one  can,  without  intermission.  Let  me 
take  you  to  the  hotel  to-night.  You  shall  come  again  in 
the  morning.' 

'  I  cannot.     There  is  some  one  here  who  wants  me.' 

'  Your  cousin,  do  you  mean  ?' 

'  O  no.  Not  he  at  all.  There  is  one  who  is,  I  am 
afraid,  dying.' 

' Morton,'  said  the  doctor.  'Yes.  You  can  do  noth 
ing  for  him.' 

But  I  thought  of  my  hymn,  and  the  tears  rose  to  my 
eyes. 

'  I  will  do  what  I  can,  Dr.  Sandford.  I  cannot  leave 
him.' 

'  There  is  a  night  nurse  who  will  take  charge.  You 
must  not  watch.  You  must  not  do  that,  Daisy.  I  com 
mand  here.' 

'All  but  me,'  I  said  putting  my  hand  on  his  arm. 
'  Trust  me.  I  will  try  to  do  just  the  right  thing.' 

There  must  have  been  more  persuasion  in  my  look  than 
I  knew ;  for  Dr.  Sandford  quitted  me  without  another 
word,  and  left  me  to  my  own  will.  I  went  softly  down 
the  room  to  the  poor  friend  I  was  wratching  over.  I 
found  his  eyes  watching  me ;  but  for  talk  there  was  no 


THE  HOSPITAL.  337 

time  just  then ;  some  services  were  called  for  in  another 
part  of  the  ward  that  drew  me  away  from  him ;  and 
when  I  came  back  he  seemed  to  be  asleep.  I  sat  down 
at  the  bed  foot  and  thought  my  hymn  all  over,  then  the 
war,  my  own  life,  and  lastly  the  world.  Miss  Yates  came 
to  me  and  bent  dowi^. 

'  Are  you  tired  out,  dear  ?' 

'  Not  at  all,'  I  said.     '  Not  at  all  tired/ 

'  They'd  give  their  eyes  if  you'd  sing  again.  It's  better 
than  doctors  and  anodynes ;  and  it's  the  first  bit  of  any 
thing  un-earthly  we've  had  in  this  place.  Will  you  try?' 

I  was  only  too  glad.  I  sang,  "  Jesus,  lover  of  my 
soul" — "Rock  of  Ages" — and  then, 

"  Just  as  I  am,  without  one  plea, 
"  But  that  thy  blood  was  shed  for  me, 
"  And  that  thou  bidst  me  come  to  thee, 
"  O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come." 

And  stillness,  deep  and  peaceful  seeming,  brooded  over 
all  the  place  in  the  pauses  between  the  singing.  There 
were  restless  and  weary  and  suffering  people  around  me ; 
patient  indeed  too,  and  uncomplaining,  in  the  worst  of 
times;  but  now  even  sighs  seemed  to  be  hushed.  I 
looked  at  the  man  who  was  said  to  be  dying.  His  wide 
open  eyes  were  intently  fixed  upon  me ;  very  intently ; 
and  I  thought,  less  ruefully  than  a  while  ago.  Then  I 
sang, 

"  Come  to  Jesus  just  now — " 

As  I  sang,  a  voice  from  the  further  end  of  the  room 
took  it  up,  and  bore  me  company  in  a  somewhat  rough  but 
true  and  manly  chorus,  to  the  end  of  the  singing.  It 
rang  sweet  round  the  room ;  it  fell  sweet  on  many  ears, 
I  know.  And  so  I  gave  my  Lord's  message. 

I  sang  no  more  that  night.     The  poor  man  for  who?3 

TOL.  II.— 29  W 


338  DAISY. 

sake  I  had  begun  the  singing,  rapidly  grew  worse.  I 
could  not  leave  him ;  for  ever  and  again,  in  the  pauses 
of  suffering,  his  eyes  sought  mine.  I  answered  the  mute 
appeal  as  I  best  could,  with  a  word  now  and  a  word  then. 
Towards  morning  the  struggle  ceased.  He  spoke  no 
more  to  me ;  but  the  last  look  was  to  my  eyes,  and  in  his, 
it  seemed  to  me,  the  shadow  had  cleared  away.  That 
was  all  I  could  know. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

ORDERS. 

I  SLEPT  longer  than  I  had  meant  to  do,  the  next  morn 
ing;  but  I  rose  with  a  happy  feeling  of  being  in  my 
place ;  where  I  wanted  to  be.  That  is,  to  be  sure,  not 
always  the  criterion  by  which  to  know  the  place  where 
one  ought  to  be;  yet  where  it  is  a  qualification  it  is 
also  in  some  sense  a  token.  The  ministry  of  the  hours 
preceding  swept  over  me  while  I  was  dressing,  with 
something  of  the  grand  swell  and  cadence  of  the  notes 
of  a  great  organ ;  grand  and  solemn  and  sweet.  I 
entered  the  ward,  ready  for  the  day's  work,  with  a  glad 
readiness. 

So  I  felt,  as  I  stepped  in  and  went  down  the  space  be 
tween  the  rows  of  beds.  Miss  Yates  nodded  to  me. 

'Here  you  are!'  she  said.  'Fresh  as  the  morning. 
Well  I  don't  know  why  we  shouldn't  have  pleasant 
things  in  such  a  place  as  this,  if  we  can  get  them ;  there's 
enough  that  ain't  pleasant,  and  folks  forget  there  is  any 
thing  else  in  the  world.  Now  you'll  be  better  than  break 
fast,  to  some  of  them ;  and  here's  breakfast,  my  dear. 
You  know  how  to  manage  that.' 

I  knew  very  well  how  to  manage  that ;  and  I  knew 
too,  as  I  went  on  with  my  ministrations,  that  Miss  Yates 
was  not  altogether  wrong.  My  ministry  did  give  pleas 
ure  ;  and  I  could  not  help  enjoying  the  knowledge. 
This  was  not  the  enjoyment  of  flattering  crowds,  wait 
ing  round  me  with  homage  in  their  eyes  and  on  their 

339 


340  DAISY. 

tongues.  I  had  known  that  too,  and  felt  the  foolish 
flutter  of  gratified  vanity  for  a  moment,  to  be  ashamed 
of  it  the  next.  This  was  the  brightening  eye,  the  relax 
ing  lip,  the  tone  of  gratification,  from  those  whose  days 
and  hours  were  a  weary  struggle  with  pain  and  disease ; 
to  bring  a  moment's  refreshment  to  them  was  a  great  joy, 
which  gives  me  no  shame  now  in  the  remembrance. 
Even  if  it  was  only  the  refreshment  of  memory  and 
fancy,  that  was  something;  and  I  gave  thanks  in  my 
heart,  as  I  went  from  one  sufferer  to  another,  that  I  had 
been  made  pleasant  to  look  at.  Preston  himself  smiled 
at  me  this  morning,  which  I  thought  a  great  gain. 

'Well  you  do  know  how  to  sing!'  he  said  softly,  as  I 
was  giving  him  his  tea  and  toast. 

'  I  am  glad  you  think  so.' 

'  Think  so !  Why  Daisy,  positively  I  was  inclined  to 
bless  gunpowder  for  the  minute,  for  having  brought  me 
here.  Now  if  you  would  only  sing  something  else — Don't 
you  know  anything  from  Norma,  or  II  Trovatore  ?' 

I  They  would  be  rather  out  of  place  here.' 

'  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Create  a  soul  under  the  ribs — Well, 
this  is  vile  tea,' 

'  Hush,  Preston  ;  you  know  the  tea  is  good,  like  every 
thing  else  here/ 

I 1  know  no  such  thing.     There  is  nothing  good  in  this 
place, — except  you, — and  I  suppose  that  is  the  reason 
you  have  chosen  it  for  your  abode.     I  can't  imagine  how 
Aunt  Kandolph  came  to  let  you,  though.' 

'She  let  me  come  to  take  care  of  you/ 

1  TIQ.  not  worth  it.  What's  a  man  good  for,  when 
there  is  only  half  of  him  left  ?  I  should  like  just  to  get 
into  one  other  field,  and  let  powder  take  the  other  half/ 

'  Hush,  Preston  !  hush ;  you  must  not  talk  so.  There's 
your  mother/ 

'My  mother  won't  think  much  of  me  now.     I  don't 


ORDERS.  341 

know  why  she  should.  You  never  did,  even  when  I  was 
myself.' 

*  I  think  just  as  much  of  you  now  as  ever,  Preston. 
You  might  be.  much  more  than  your  old  self,  if  you 
would.' 

Preston  frowned  and  rolled  his  head  over  on  the 
pillow. 

'Confound-ed!'  he  muttered.  'To  be  in  such  a  den 
of  Yankees!' 

'You  are  ungrateful.' 

'  I  am  not.     I  owe  it  to  Yankee  powder.' 

What,  perhaps,  had  Southern  powder  done?  I  shiv 
ered  inwardly,  and  for  a  moment  forgot  Preston. 

1  What  is  the  matter?'  said  he.  'You  look  queer; 
and  it  is  very  queer  of  you  to  spill  my  tea.' 

'  Drink  it  then,'  I  said,  '  and  don't  talk  in  such  a  way. 
I  will  not  have  you  do  it,  Preston,  to  me.' 

He  glanced  at  me,  a  little  wickedly ;  but  he  had  fin 
ished  his  breakfast  and  I  turned  from  him.  As  I  turned, 
I  saw  that  the  bed  opposite,  where  Morton  had  died  a 
few  hours  before,  had  already  received  another  occupant. 
It  startled  me  a  little ;  this  quick  transition  ;  this  sudden 
total  passing  away ;  then,  as  I  cast  another  glance  at  the 
newly  come,  my  breath  stood  still.  I  saw  eyes  watching 
me, — I  had  never  but  once  known  such  eyes  ;  I  saw  an  em 
browned  but  very  familiar  face ;  as  I  looked,  I  saw  a  flash 
of  light  come  into  the  eyes,  quick  and  brilliant  as  I  had 
seen  such  flashes  come  and  go  a  hundred  times.  I  knew 
what  I  saw. 

It  seems  to  me  now  in  the  retrospect,  it  seemed  to  me 
then,  as  if  my  life — that  which  makes  life — were  that 
moment  suddenly  gathered  up,  held  before  me,  and  then 
dashed  under  my  feet ;  thrown  down  to  the  ground  and 
trampled  on.  For  a  moment  the  sight  of  my  eyes  failed 
tne.  I  think  nobody  noticed  it.  I  think  nothing  was  to 

29* 


342  DAISY. 

be  seen,  except  that*  I  stood  still  for  that  minute.  It 
passed,  and  my  sight  returned ;  and  as  one  whose  life  is 
under  foot  and  who  knows  it  will  never  rise  again,  I 
crossed  the  floor  to  Thorold.  We  were  not  alone.  Eyes 
and  ears  were  all  around  us.  Remembering  this,  I  put 
my  hand  in  his  and  said  a  simple — 

1  How  do  you  do  ?' 

But  his  look  at  me  was  so  infinitely  glad  and  sweet, 
that  my  senses  failed  me  again.  I  did  not  sink  down ; 
but  I  stood  without  sight  or  hearing.  The  clasp  of  his 
hand  recalled  me. 

'It  is  Daisy!"  he  said  smiling.  *  Daisy,  and  not  a 
vision.  My  Daisy !  How  is  it  ?' 

1  What  can  1  do  for  you  ?'  I  said  hastily. 

'  Nothing.  Stand  there.  I  have  been  looking  at  you ; 
and  thought  it  was  long  till  you  would  look  at  me.' 

'  I  was  busy.' 

'Yes,  I  know,  love.  How  is  it,  Daisy?  When  did 
you  come  back  from  Switzerland  ?* 

'Months  ago.' 

'I  did  not  know  of  it.' 

'  Letters  failed,  I  suppose.' 

'  Then  you  wrote  ?' 

'  I  wrote, — with  papa's  letter.' 

1  When?' 

*O  long  ago — long  ago; — I  don't  know, — a  year  or 
two.' 

'  It  never  reached  me,'  he  said,  a  shadow  crossing  his 
bright  brow. 

'  I  sent  it  to  your  aunt,  for  her  to  send  it  to  you ;  and 
she  sent  it ;  I  asked  her.' 

1  Failed/  he  said.     '  What  was  it,  Daisy  ?' 

The  question  was  put  eagerly. 

'  Papa  was  very  good,'  I  said ; — '  and  you  were  very 
right,  Christian,  and  I  was  wrong.  IJe  liked  your  letter.' 


ORDERS.  343 

'  And  I  should  have  liked  his  ?'*  he  said,  with  one  of 
those  brilliant  illuminations  of  eye  and  face/ 

'  I  think  you  would.' 

*  Then  I  have  got  all  I  can  ask  for,'  he  said.  '  You 
are  mine ;  and  while  we  live  in  this  world  we  belong  to 
each  other.  Is  it  not  so  ?' 

There  was  mamma.  But  I  could  not  speak  of  her. 
Even  she  could  not  prevent  the  truth  of  what  Christian 
said;  in  one  way  it  must  be  true.  I  gave  no  denial. 
Thorold  clasped  my  hand  very  fast,  and  I  stood  breath 
less.  Then  suddenly  I  asked  if  he  had  had  his  break 
fast?  He  laughed  and  said  yes,  and  still  clasped  my 
hand  in  a  grasp  that  said  it  was  better  than  food  and 
drink  to  him.  I  stood  like  one  from  under  whose  feet 
the  ground  is  slipping  away.  I  longed  to  know,  but 
dared  not  ask,  what  had  brought  him  there ;  whether  he 
was  suffering ;  the  words  would  not  come  to  my  lips.  I 
knew  Dr.  Sandford  would  be  here  by  and  by ;  how  should 
I  bear  it  ?  But  I,  and  nobody  but  me,  must  do  all  that 
was  done  for  this  sufferer  at  least. 

I  left  Mr,  Thorold,  to  attend  to  duties  that  called  me 
on  all  hands.  I  did  them  like  one  in  a  dream.  Yet  my 
ordinary  manner  was  quiet,  and  I  suppose  nobody  saw 
any  difference ;  only  I  felt  it.  I  was  looking  all  the  time 
for  the  moment  of  Dr.  Sandford's  appearance,  and  pray 
ing  for  strength.  It  came,  his  visit,  as  everything  does 
come,  when  its  time  was ;  and  I  followed  him  in  his 
round ;  waiting  and  helping  as  there  was  want  of  me.  I 
did  it  coolly,  I  know,  with  faculties  sharpened  by  an  in 
tense  motive  and  feelings  engrossed  with  one  thought.  I 
proved  myself  a  good  assistant ;  I  knew  Dr.  Sandford 
approved  of  me ;  I  triumphed,  so  far,  in  the  consciousness 
that  I  had  made  good  my  claim  to  my  position,  and  was 
in  no  danger  of  being  shoved  away  on  the  score  of  in- 
competency. 


344  DAISY. 

1  Doctor,'  said  Preston  when  we  came  round  to  him, 
'  won't  you  send  away  Miss  Randolph  out  of  a  place  that 
she  is  not  fit  for  ?' 

'I  will,'  said  Dr.  Sandford  grimly,  'when  I  find  such 
a  place.' 

*  Out  of  this  place,  then,  where  she  ought  not  to  be ; 
and  you  know  it.' 

'  It  would  be  your  loss,  my  friend.  You  are  exercising 
great  self-denial,  or  else  you  speak  in  ignorance.' 

'She  might  as  well  go  on  the  stage  at  once!'  said 
Preston  bitterly.  'Singing  half  the  night  to  sixty 
soldiers, — and  won't  give  one  a  thing  from  Norma, 
then!' 

The  doctor  gave  one  quick  glance  of  his  blue  eye  at 
me;  it  was  a  glance  inquiring,  recognizing,  touched, 
sympathizing,  all  in  an  instant ;  it  surprised  me.  Then 
it  went  coolly  back  to  his  work. 

'  What  does  she  sing  ?' 

'  Psalms' — said  Preston. 

'  Feverish  tendency  ?'  said  the  doctor. 

Preston  flung  himself  to  one  side,  with  a  violent  word, 
almost  an  oath,  that  shocked  me.  We  left  him  and 
went  on. 

Or  rather,  went  over ;  for  at  the  instant  Dr.  Sandford's 
eye  caught  the  new  occupant  of  the  opposite  bed.  I  was 
glad  to  find  that  he  did  not  recognize  him. 

The  examination  of  Mr.  Thorold's  wounds  followed. 
They  were  internal,  and  had  been  neglected.  I  do  not 
know  how  I  went  through  it;  seeing  how  he  went 
tnrough  it  partly  helped  me,  for  I  thought  he  did  not 
seem  to  suffer  greatly.  His  face  was  entirely  calm  and 
his  eye  clear  whenever  it  could  catch  mine.  But  the  op 
eration  was  long ;  and  I  felt  when  it  was.  over  as  if  I 
had  been  through  a  battle  myself.  I  was  forced  to  leave 
him  and  go  on  with  my  attentions  to  the  other  sufferers 


ORDERS.  345 

in  the  ward ;  and  I  could  not  get  back  to  Mr.  Thorold 
till  the  dinner  hour.  I  managed  to  be  at  his  side  to 
serve  him  then.  But  he  had  the  use  of  his  arms  and 
hands  and  did  not  need  feeding,  like  some  of  the  others. 

'It  is  worth  being  here,  Daisy,'  said  Mr.  Thorold, 
when  I  came  with  his  dinner;  which  was,  however,  a 
light  one. 

'  No/  said  I.  Speaking  in  low  tones,  which  I  was  ac 
customed  to  use  to  all  there,  we  were  in  little  danger 
of  being  overheard? 

'Not  to  you,'  said  he  with  a  laughing  flash  of  his  eye; 
'  I  only  spoke  of  my  own  sense  of  things.  That  is  as  I 
tell  you.' 

'  How  do  you  do  now  T  I  asked  tremblingly. 

His  eye  changed,  softened,  lifted  itself  to  mine  with  a 
beautiful  glow  in  it.  I  half  knew  what  was  coming 
before  he  spoke. 

'  We  know  in  whose  hands  I  am,'  he  said.  '  I  have 
earned  the  "right  to  my  name,"  Daisy.' 

Ah,  that  was  hard  to  bear !  harder  than  the  surgeon's 
probe  which  had  gone  before.  It  was  hard  at  the  same 
time  not  to  fall  on  my  knees  to  give  thanks ;  or  to  break 
out  into  a  shout  of  glad  praise.  I  suppose  I  shewed 
nothing  of  it,  only  stood  still  and  pale  by  the  side  of  the 
bed;  till  Mr.  Thorold  asked  me  for  something,  and  I 
knew  that  I  had  been  neglecting  his  dinner.  And  then 
I  knew  that  I  was  neglecting  others ;  and  flew  across  to 
Preston,  who  needed  my  services. 

'  Who's  that  over  yonder,'  he  grumbled. 

'  One  newly  come  in — wounded,'  I  replied. 

'  Isn't  it  somebody  you  know  T 

'It  is  one  I  used  to  know.' 

'  Then  you  know  him  yet,  I  suppose.  It  is  that  fellow 
Thorold,  isn't  it?' 

'Yes.' 


346  DAISY. 

'  What  has  brought  him  here  ?' 

'  He  is  wounded,'  I  whispered. 

'I  am  glad  of  it!'  said  Preston  savagely.  'Why 
shouldn't  he  be  wounded,  when  his  betters  are  ?  Is  he 
badly  off?' 

I  simply  could  not  answer  at  the  minute. 
'  How's  he  wounded  T 

I 1  do  not  know/ 

'  You  don't  know !  when  you  were  attending  to  him. 
Then  he  hasn't  lost  a  leg  or  an  arm,  I  suppose  ?  You 
would  know  that/ 

'No.' 

'D n  him!'  said  Preston.  'That  he  should  be 

whole  and  sound  and  only  half  of  me  left  P 

I  was  dumb,  for  want  of  the  power  to  speak.  I  think 
such  a  passion  of  indignation  and  displeasure  never  found 
place  in  my  heart,  before  or  since.  But  I  did  not  wish 
to  say  anything  angrily,  and  yet  my  heart  was  full  of 
violent  feeling  that  could  find  but  violent  words.  I  fed 
Preston  in  silence  till  his  dinner  was  done,  and  left 
him.  Then  as  I  passed  near  him  again  soon  after,  I 
stopped. 

'  You  are  so  far  from  sound,  Preston,'  I  said,  '  that  I 
shall  keep  out  of  the  way  of  your  words.  You  must 
exquse  me — but  I  cannot  hear  or  allow  them  ;  and  as  you 
have  no  control  over  yourself,  my  only  resource  is  to  keep 
at  a  distance.' 

I  waited  for  no  answer  but  moved  away ;  and  busied  my 
self  with  all  the  ward  rather  than  him.  It  was  a  hard, 
hard,  afternoon's  work ;  my  heart  divided  between  the 
temptation  to  violent  anger  and  violent  tears.  I  kept 
away  from  Mr.  Thorold  too,  partly  from  policy,  and 
partly  because  I  could  not  command  myself,  I  was  afraid, 
in  his  presence.  But  towards  evening  I  found  myself  by 
his  side,  and  in  the  dusk  our  hands  met ;  while  I  used  a 


ORDERS. 


347 


fan  with  the  other  hand,  by  way  of  seeming  to  do  some 
thing  for  him. 

'  What  is  the  matter  ?'  he  whispered. 

'Matter?'  I  repeated. 

'Yes.' 

'  There  is  enough  the  matter  here  always,  Christian.' 

'  Yes.     And  what  more  than  usual  this  afternoon  ?' 

'What  makes  you  ask?' 

'  I  have  been  looking  at  you.' 

'  And  what  did  you  see  ?' 

'  I  saw  that  you  were  hiding  something,  from  every 
body  but  me.  Tell  it  now.' 

'  Christian,  it  was  not  anything  good/ 

'Confess  your  faults  one  to  another,  then,'  said  he. 
'  What  is  the  use  of  having  friends  ?' 

'You  would  not  be  pleased  to  hear  of  my  faults.' 

I  could  see,  even  in  the  dim  light,  the  flash  of  his  eye 
as  it  looked  into  mine. 

'  How  many,  Daisy  ?' 

'Anger,'  I  said; — 'and  resentment;  and — self-will.' 

'What  raised  the  anger?'  said  he;  a  different  tone 
coming  into  his  own  voice. 

'  Preston.     His  way  of  talking.' 

'  About  me  ?' 

'  Yes.     I  cannot  get  over  it.' 

And  I  thought  I  should  have  broken  down  at  that 
minute.  My  fan-play  ceased.  Christian  held  my  hand 
very  fast,  and  after  a  few  minutes  began  again — 

'  Does  he  know  you  are  angry,  Daisy  ?' 

'  Yes  he  does ;  for  I  told  him  as  much.' 

'  Did  you  tell  him  sharply  ?' 

'No.     I  told  him  coldly.' 

'  Go  over  and  say  that  you  have  forgiven  him/ 

'But  I  have  not  forgiven  him.'' 

*  You  know  you  must.' 


348  DATST 

'  I  cannot,  just  yet,  Christian.  To-morrow,  perhaps  I 
can.' 

'  You  must  do  it  to-night,  Daisy.  You  do  not  know 
what  else  you  may  have  to  do  before  to-morrow,  that  you 
will  want  the  spirit  of  love  for.' 

I  was  silent  a  little,  for  I  knew  that  was  true. 

<  Well  ?— '  said  he. 

1  What  can  I  do  ?'  I  said.  '  I  suppose  it  will  wear  out ; 
but. just  now  I  have  great  displeasure  against  Preston.  I 
cannot  tell  him  I  forgive  him.  I  have  not  forgiven  him/ 

'  And  do  not  want  to  forgive  him  ?' 

I  was  again  silent,  for  the  answer  would  have  had  to 
be  an  affirmative. 

'  If  I  could  reach  you,  I  would  kiss  that  away,'  said 
Thorold.  '  Daisy,  must  I  tell  you,  that  there  is  One  who 
can  look  it  away  ?  You  need  not  wait.' 

I  knew  he  spoke  truth  again  ;  and  I  had  forgotten  it. 
Truth  that  once  by  experience  I  so  well  knew.  I  stood 
silent  and  self-condemned. 

' Christian,  I  do  not  very  often  get  angry;  but  when  I 
do,  I  am  afraid  the  feeling  is  very  obstinate.' 

'  The  case  isn't  desperate — unless  you  are  obstinate  too/ 
he  said,  with  a  look  which  conquered  me.  I  fanned  him 
a  little  while  longer;  not  long.  For  I  was  able  very 
tfoon  to  go  across  to  Preston. 

'Are  you  going  to  desert  me  for  that  fellow?'  he 
growled. 

'  I  must  desert  you,  for  whoever  wants  me  more  than 
you  do ;  and  you  must  be  willing  that  I  should.' 

'  If  it  wasn't  for  confounded  Yankees !'  he  said. 

'  Yankees  are  pretty  good  to  you,  Preston,  I  think, 
just  now.  What  if  they  were  to  desert  you?  Where  is 
your  generosity  ?' 

*  Shot  away.  Come,  Daisy,  I  had  no  business  to  speak 
as  I  did.  I'll  confess  it.  Forgive  me,  won't  you  ?' 


ORDERS.  349 

'  Entirely/  I  said.  '  But  you  gave  me  great  pain, 
Preston.' 

'  You  are  like  the  thinnest  description  of  glass  manu 
facture/  said  Preston.  'What  wouldn't  scratch  some 
thing  else,  makes  a  confounded  fracture  in  your  feelings. 
I'll  try  and  remember  what  brittle  ware  I  am  dealing 
with.' 

So  that  was  over,  and  I  gave  him  his  tea ;  and  then 
went  round  to  do  the  same  by  others.  I  had  to  take 
them  in  turn ;  and  when  I  got  to  Mr.  Thorold  at  last, 
there  was  no  more  time  then  for  talking,  which  I  longed 
for.  After  the  surgeon's  round,  when  all  was  quiet  again 
in  the  room,  I  sat  at  the  foot  of  Mr.  Thorold's  bed  with 
a  kind  of  cry  in  my  heart,  to  which  I  could  give  no  ex 
pression.  I  could  riot  kneel  there,  to  pray ;  I  could  not 
leave  my  post;  I  could  not  speak  nor  listen  where  I 
wanted  a  full  interchange  of  heart  with  heart ;  the  op 
pression  almost  choked  me.  Then  I  remembered  I  could 
sing.  And  I  sang  that  hour,  if  I  never  did  before.  My 
sorrow,  and  my  joy,  and  my  cry  of  heart,  I  put  them  all 
into  the  notes  and  poured  them  forth  in  my  song.  I  was 
never  so  glad  I  could  sing  as  these  days.  I  knew,  all  the 
time,  it  was  medicine  and  anodynes  and  strength — and 
maybe  teaching — to  many  that  heard ;  for  me,  it  was  the 
cry  of  prayer,  and  the  pleading  of  faith,  and  the  confes 
sion  of  utmost  need.  How  strong  "Kock  of  Ages" 
seemed  to  me  again  that  night;  the  hymn,  "How  sweet 
the  name  of  Jesus  sounds,"  was  to  me  a  very  schedule  of 
treasure ;  my  soul  mounted  on  the  words,  like  the  angels 
on  Jacob's  ladder ;  the  top  of  the  ladder  was  in  heaven, 
if  the  foot  of  it  was  on  a  very  rough  spot  of  earth.  That 
night  I  sang  hymns,  in  the  high -wrought  state  of  my 
feelings,  which  the  next  day  I  could  not  have  sung.  I 
remember  that  one  of  them  was  "  What  are  these  in 
bright  array,"  with  the  chorus,  "  They  have  clean  robes, 
VOL.  ii. — 30 


350  DAISY. 

white  robes."  "When  I  can  read  my  title  clear,"  was 
another.  Sometimes  a  hymn  starts  up  to  me  now,  with 
a  thrill  of  knowledge  that  I  sang  it  that  night,  which  yet 
at  other  times  I  cannot  recall.  I  sang  till  the  hour,  and 
past  it,  when  I  must  go  to  my  room  and  give  place  to  the 
night  watchers.  I  longed  to  stay,  but  it  was  impossible ; 
so  I  went  and  bade  Preston  good-night,  who  said  to  me 
never  a  word  this  time ;  spoke  to  one  or  two  others  ;  and 
then  went  to  Mr.  Thorold.  I  laid  my  hand  on  his.  He 
grasped  it  immediately  and  looked  up  at  me  with  a  clear, 
sweet,  bright  look,  which  did  me  untold  good ;  pulling 
me  gently  down.  I  bent  over  him,  thinking  he  wished 
to  speak ;  then  I  knew  what  he  wished,  and  obeying  the 
impulse  and  the  request,  our  lips  met.  I  don't  know  if 
anybody  saw  it ;  and  I  did  not  care.  That  kiss  sent  me 
to  sleep. 

The  next  day  I  was  myself  again.  Not  relieved  from 
the  impression  which  had  seized  me  when  I  first  saw  Mr. 
Thorold ;  but  quietly  able  to  bear  it ;  in  a  sort  raised 
above  it.  To  do  the  moment's  duty ;  to  gather,  and  to 
give,  every  stray  crumb  of  relief  or  pleasure  that  might 
be  possible  for  either  of  us ;  better  than  that,  to  do  the 
Lord's  will  and  to  bear  it,  were  all  I  sought  for.  All  at 
least,  of  which  I  was  fairly  conscious  that  I  sought  it ; 
the  heart  has  a  way  of  carrying  on  underground  trains 
of  feeling  and  action  of  its  own,  and  so  did  mine  now. 
As  I  found  afterwards.  But  I  was  perfectly  able  for  all 
my  work.  When  next  I  had  an  opportunity  for  private 
talk  with  Mr.  Thorold,  he  asked  me  with  a  smile,  if  fne 
resentment  was  all  gone  ?  I  told  him,  '  O  yes/ 

'  What  was  the  "self-will"  about,  Daisy?' 

'  You  remember  too  well/  I  said. 

'What?' 

'Me  and  my  words.' 

'Why?' 


ORDERS.  351 

'It  is  not  easy  to  say  why,  just  in  this  instance/ 

'No.  Well,  Daisy,  say  the  other  thing.  About  the 
self-will.' 

I  hesitated. 

'  Are  you  apt  to  be  self-willed  ?'  he  asked  tenderly. 

'I  do  not  know.  I  believe  I  did  not  use  to  think 
so.  I  am  afraid  it  is  very  difficult  to  know  oneself, 
Christian/ 

'  1  think  you  are  self-willed,'  he  said  smiling. 

'  Did  you  use  to  see  it  in  me  ?' 

'I  think  so.  What  is  the  present  matter  in  hand, 
Daisy?' 

I  did  not  want  to  tell  him.  But  I  could  not  run  away. 
And  those  bright  eyes  were  going  over  my  face  and 
reading  in  it,  I  knew.  I  did  not  know  what  they  read. 
I  feared.  He  waited,  smiling  a  little  as  he  looked. 

'  I  ought  not  to  be  self-willed, — about  anything,'  I  said 
at  last. 

'  No,  I  suppose  not.  What  has  got  a  grip  of  your 
heart  then,  Daisy  ?' 

'  I  am  unwilling  to  see  you  lying  here,'  I  said.  It  was 
said  with  great  force  upon  myself,  under  the  stress  of 
necessity. 

'  And  unwilling  that  I  should  get  any  but  one  sort  of 
discharge,' — he  added. 

1  You  do  not  fear  it,'  I  said  hastily. 

'I  fear  nothing.  But  a  soldier,  Daisy, — a  soldier 
ought  to  be  ready  for  orders ;  and  he  must  not  choose. 
He  does  not  know  where  the  service  will  call  for  him. 
He  knows  his  Captain  does  know.' 

I  stood  still,  slowly  fanning  Mr.  Thorold ;  my  self- 
control  could  go  no  further  than  to  keep  me  outwardly 
quiet. 

'  You  used  to  be  a  soldier,'  he  said  gently,  after  a  pause. 
'  You  are  yet.  Not  ready  for  orders,  Daisy  ?' 


352 


DAISY. 


'  Christian — you  know, — '  I  stammered  forth. 

'  I  know,  my  beloved.  And  there  is  another  that 
knows.  He  knows  all.  Can't  you  leave  the  matter  to 
him?' 

'I  must' 

'  Must  is  a  hard  word.  Let  Jesus  appoint,  and  let  you 
and  me  obey ;  because  we  love  him,  and  are  his.' 

He  was  silent,  and  so  was  I  then ;  the  words  trooping 
in  a  sort  of  grand  procession  through  some  distant  part 
of  my  brain — "  All  things  are  yours ;  whether  life,  or 
death,  or  the  world,  or  things  present,  or  things  to  come ; 
all  are  yours ;  and  ye  are  Christ's ;  and  Christ  is  God's." 
I  knew  they  swept  by  there,  in  their  sweetness  and  their 
majesty ;  I  could  not  lay  hold  of  them  to  make  them 
dwell  with  me  then. 

A  few  days  went  past,  filled  with  duty  as  usual ;  more 
filled  with  a  consuming  desire  which  had  taken  possession 
of  me,  to  know  really  how  Mr.  Thorold  was  and  what 
were  the  prospects  of  his  recovery.  His  face  always 
looked  clear  and  well ;  I  thought  his  wounds  were  not 
specially  painful ;  I  never  saw  any  sign  that  they  were ; 
the  dressing  of  them  was  always  borne  very  quietly. 
That  was  not  uncommon,  but  involuntary  tokens  of  pain 
were  sometimes  wrung  from  the  sufferers ;  a  sigh,  or  a 
knit  brow,  or  a  pale  cheek,  or  a  clinched  hand,  gave  one 
sorrowful  knowledge  often  that  the  heroism  of  patient 
courage  was  more  severely  tested  in  the  hospital  than  on 
the  field.  I  never  saw  any  of  these  signs  in  Mr.  Thorold. 
In  spite  of  myself,  a  hope  began  to  spring  and  grow  in 
my  heart,  which  at  the  first  seeing  of  him  in  that  place  I 
had  thought  dead  altogether.  And  then  I  could  not  rest 
short  of  certainty.  But  how  to  get  any  light  at  all  on 
the  subject  was  a  question.  The  other  nurse  could  not 
tell  me,  for  she  knew  no  more  than  myself;  not  so  much, 
for  she  rarely  nursed  Mr.  Thorold.  Dr.  Sandford  nevei 


ORDERS.  353 

told  how  his  patients  were  doing  or  likely  to  do ;  if  he 
were  asked,  he  evaded  the  answer.  "What  we  were  to  do, 
he  told  explicitly,  carefully ;  the  issue  of  our  cares  he 
left  it  to  time  and  fact  to  shew.  So  what  was  I  to  do  ? 
Moreover,  I  did  not  wish  to  let  him  see  that  I  had  any, 
the  least,  solicitude  for  one  case  more  than  the  rest.  And 
another  thing,  I  dreaded  unspeakably  to  make  the  appeal 
and  have  my  doubts  solved.  With  the  one  difficulty 
and  the  other  before  me,  I  let  day  after  day  go  by ;  day 
after  day ;  during  which  I  saw  as  much  of  Mr.  Thorold 
as  I  could,  and  watched  him  with  intense  eyes.  But  I 
was  able  to  resolve  nothing ;  only  I  thought  his  appetite 
grew  poorer  than  it  had  been,  while  that  of  many  others 
was  improving.  We  had  some  chance  for  talk  during 
those  days ;  by  snatches,  I  told  him  a  good  deal  of  the 
history  of  my  European  life ;  and  he  gave  me  details  of 
his  life  in  camp  and  field.  We  lived  very  close  to  each 
other  all  that  time,  though  outward  communication  was 
so  restricted.  Hearts  have  their  own  way  of  communi 
cating, — and  spirits  are  not  wholly  shut  in  by  flesh  and 
blood.  But  as  the  days  went  by,  my  anxiety  and  sus 
pense  began  to  grow  unendurable. 

So  I  followed  Dr.  Sandford  one  morning  to  his  den,  as 
he  called  it. 

'  Are  you  getting  tired  of  hospital  life  ?'  he  asked  me 
with  a  smile.  '  I  see  you  want  to  speak  to  me.' 

'You  know  I  am  not  tired.' 

'  I  know  you  are  not.  There  is  something  in  a  woman 
that  likes  suffering,  I  think,  if  only  she  can  lay  her  hand 
on  it  and  relieve  it.' 

1  That  is  making  it  a  very  selfish  business,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

'  We  are  all  selfish,'  said  the  doctor.  '  The  difference 
is,  that  some  are  selfish  for  themselves,  and  some  for  other 
people.' 

'Now  you  are  cynical.' 
30*  X 


354  DAISY. 

.'  I  am  nothing  of  the  kind.  What  do  you  want  with 
me?' 

'Preston  is  doing  very  well,  is  he  not,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

'  Perfectly  well.  He  will  be  out  just  as  soon  as  in  the 
nature  of  things  it  is  possible.  I  suppose,  or  am  I  not  to 
suppose,  that  then  you  will  consider  your  work  done  ?' 

'  I  do  not  think  he  wants  me  a  quarter  as  much  as 
other  people,  now.' 

'  He  does  not  want  you  at  all,  in  the  sense  of  needing. 
In  the  other  sense,  I  presume  different  people  might  put 
in  a  claim  to  be  attended  to.' 

1  But,  Dr.  Sandford,  I  wish  I  knew  who  of  all  these 
people  in  the  ward  need  me  most.' 

'  You  are  doing  all  you  can  for  all  of  them.' 

'  If  I  had  that  knowledge,  though,  I  might  serve  them 
better — or  with  more  judicious  service.' 

'No  you  could  not,'  said  the  doctor.  '  You  are  twice 
as  judicious  as  Miss  Yates  now ;  though  she  is  twice  as 
old  as  you.  You  do  the  right  thing  in  the  right  place 
always.' 

'  I  wish  you  would  do  this  thing  for  me,  nevertheless, 
Dr.  Sandford.  I  wish  it  very  much.' 

'  What  thing  ?' 

'  Let  me  know  the  various  states  of  the  patients,  and 
their  prospect  of  recovery.' 

'  Most  of  them  have  a  very  fair  prospect  of  recovery,' 
said  the  doctor. 

'  Will  you  do  it  for  me,  Dr.  Sandford  ? — I  ask  it  as  a 
great  favour.' 

'  Gary's  all  right,'  he  said  with  a  full  look  at  me. 

'Yes,  I  know;  but  I  would  like  to  know  how  it  is 
with  the  others.  I  could  better  tell  how  to  minister  to 
them,  and  what  to  do.' 

'  The  thing  to  be  done  would  not  vary  at  all  with  your 
increased  knowledge,  Daisy.' 


ORDERS.  355 

*  Not  the  things  in  your  line,  I  know ;  but  the  things 
in  mine.' 

'  You  would  know  better  how  to  sing,  to  wit  ?'  said  the 
doctor. 

'  And  to  pray — '  I  said  half  under  my  breath. 

'  Daisy,  I  haven't  a  schedule  of  the  cases  here ;  and  if 
I  told  you,  you  might  forget,  among  so  many,  which  was 
which.  Anyhow,  I  have  not  the  schedule.' 

'  No,  but  you  could  do  this  for  me.  To-night,  Dr.  Sand- 
ford,  when  you  go  round,  you  could  indicate  to  me  what 
I  want  to  know,  and  nobody  else  be  the  wiser.  When 
we  come  to  any  case  that  is  serious,  but  with  hope,  take 
hold  of  your  chin,  so ;  if  any  is  serious  without  hope, 
just  pass  your  hand  through  your  hair.  You  do  that 
often.' 

'Not  when  I  am  going  my  rounds,  Daisy,'  said  the 
doctor  looking  amused. 

'  Only  this  time,  for  me,'  I  pleaded. 

'You  would  not  sing  as  well.' 

'I  should — or  I  might — know  better  how  to  sing.' 

'Or  you  might  not  be  able  to  sing  at  all.  Though 
your  nerves  are  good,'  the  doctor  admitted.  '  Women's 
nerves  are  made  of  a  material  altogether  differently 
selected,  or  tempered,  from  that  of  masculine  nerves ; 
pure  metal,  of  some  ethereal  sort.' 

'  Are  there  such  things  as  masculine  nerves  ?'  I  asked. 

'  Do  you  doubt  jt  ?'  said  the  doctor,  turning  a  half  re 
proachful  look  upon  me. 

'  Dr.  Sandford,  I  do  not  doubt  it.  And  so,  you  will, 
for  once,  and  as  an  extraordinary  kindness,  do  this  thing 
for  me  that  I  have  asked  you.' 

'The  use  of  it  is  hidden  from  me,'  said  the  doctor; 
'  but  to  admit  my  ignorance  is  a  thing  I  have  often  done 
before,  where  you  are  concerned.' 

'  Then  I  will  take  care  to  be  with  you  as  soon  as  you 


356  DAISY. 

come  in  this  evening,'  I  said,  'so  as  to  get  all  you  will 
tell  me.' 

'  If  I  do  not  forget  it,'  said  the  doctor. 

But  I  knew  there  was  no  danger  of  his  forgetting. 
There  was  no  taking  Dr.  Sandford  off  his  guard.  In  all 
matters  that  concerned  his  professional  duties,  he  was 
like  steel ;  for  strength  and  truth  and  temper.  Nothing 
that  Dr.  Sandford  did  not  see ;  nothing  that  he  did  not 
remember ;  nothing  that  was  too  much  for  his  skill  and 
energies  and  executive  faculty.  Nobody  disobeyed  Dr. 
Sandford — unless  it  were  I,  now  and  then. 

I  walked  through  the  rest  of  that  day  in  a  smothered 
fever.  How  I  had  found  courage  to  make  my  propo 
sition  to  the  doctor,  I  do  not  know ;  it  was  the  courage 
of  desperate  suspense  which  could  bear  itself  no  longer. 
After  the  promise  had  been  obtained  that  I  sought,  my 
courage  failed.  My  joints  trembled  under  me,  as  I  went 
about  the  ward ;  my  very  hands  trembled  as  I  ministered 
to  the  men.  The  certainty  that  I  had  coveted,  I  dreaded 
now.  Yet  Mr.  Thorold  looked  so  well  and  seemed  to 
suffer  so  little,  I  could  not  but  quarrel  with  myself  for 
folly,  in  being  so  fearful.  Also  I  was  ready  to  question 
myself,  whether  I  had  done  right  in  seeking  more 
knowledge  of  the  future  than  might  come  to  me  day  by 
day  in  the  slow  course  of  events.  But  I  had  done  it ; 
and  Dr.  Sandford  was  coming  in  the  evening. 

'  What  is  the  matter  with  you  Daisy  ?'  Mr.  Thorold 
said. 

'  Is  anything  the  matter  ?'  I  replied. 

'Yes.     What  is  it?' 

'  How  can  you  see  it,  Christian  ?' 

'  I  ?'  said  he.  '  I  see  right  through  your  eyes,  back 
into  the  thought  that  looks  out  of  them.'  - 

'  Yet  you  ask  me  for  the  thought  ?' 

'The   root   of  it.      Yes.      I   see   that  you   are  pre- 


ORDERS.  357 

occupied,    and    troubled ;— and    trembling.       You,   my 
Daisy?' 

*  Can  I  quite  help  it,  Christian  ?' 
'  Can  you  quite  trust  the  Lord  ?' 

'  But, — not  that  he  will  always  save  me  from  what  I 

fear.' 

'  No ;  not  that.     Let  him  save  you  from  the  fear.1 
'How  have  you  learned  so  much  about  it,  so  much 

more  than  I?' — and   my  lips   were   trembling   then,   I 

know. 

*  I  have  had  time,'  he  said  gently.     *  All  those  months 
and  months,  when  you  were  at  an  unimaginable  distance 
from  me,  actually  and  morally, — and  prospectively, — do 
you  think  I  had  no  chance  to  exercise  myself  in  the  les 
son  of  submission  ?     I  fought  out  that  problem,  Daisy.' 

'  Were  you  in  Washington  the  winter  of  '61  ?'  I  asked, 
changing  the  subject ;  for  I  could  not  bear  it. 

'  Part  of  that  winter,'  he  said,  with  a  somewhat  sur 
prised  look  at  me. 

'  Did  you  meet  in  society  here  that  winter  a  Miss  St. 
Clair,  who  used  to  be  once  a  schoolmate  of  mine? — very 
handsome.' 

'  I  think  I  remember  her.  I  knew  nothing  about  her 
having  been  at  school  with  you,  or  I  think  I  should  have 
sought  her  acquaintance.' 

'  She  was  said  to  have  yours.' 

'  A  passing,  society  acquaintance,  she  had.' 

'  Nothing  more  ?' 

'More?'  said  he.     'No.     Nothing  more/ 

'  How  came  the  report  that  you  were  her  dearest  friend?' 

'  From  the  father  of  lies,'  said  Mr.  Thorold ;  « if  there 
ever  was  such  a  report ;  which  I  should  doubt.' 

'  It  came  to  me  in  Paris.' 

'  Did  you  believe  it  ?' 

'  I  could  not ;  but  papa  did.     It  came  from  Miss  St. 


358  DAISY. 

Glair's  own  particular  friend,  and  she  told  mamma,  I 
think,  that  you  were  engaged  to  her.' 

'I  think  particular  friends  are  a  nuisance!'  said  Mr. 
Thorold.  'Why  she  was  said  here,  to  be  engaged  to 
somebody, — Major — Major  Somebody, — I  forget.  Major 
Fairbairn.' 

*  Major  Fairbairn !' 

'Yes.     Why?' 

'  That  explains  it,7  I  exclaimed. 

'Explains  what?'  said  Mr.  Thorold.  And  such  a 
shower  of  fire  as  came  from  his  eyes  then,  fun  and  intelli 
gence  and  affection,  never  came  from  anybody's  eyes 
beside.  I  had  to  tell  him  all  I  was  thinking  about ;  and 
then  hurry  away  to  my  duties. 

But  at  tea  time  I  could  touch  nothing.  The  trem 
bling  had  reached  my  very  heart. 

'  Why,  you  ain't  going  to  give  out,  are  you  ?'  said 
Miss  Yates  in  a  concerned  voice.  '  You've  gone  a  little 
beyond  your  tether.' 

'Not  at  all,'  said  I;  'not  at  all.  I  am  only  not  hun 
gry.  I  will  go  back,  if  you  please,  to  something  I  can 
do.' 

I  busied  myself  restlessly  about  the  ward,  till  one  of 
the  men,  I  forget  who,  asked  me  to  sing  to  them.  It  had 
become  a  standing  ordinance  of  the  place ;  and  people 
said,  a  very  beneficial  one.  But  to-night  I  had  not 
thought  I  could  sing.  Yet  when  he  asked  me,  the 
power  came.  I  did  not  sit  down  as  usual ;  standing  at 
the  foot  of  Mr.  Thorold's  bed  I  sang,  leaning  hard  against 
strength  and  love  out  of  sight ;  and  my  voice  was  as  clear 
as  ever. 

The  ward  was  so  very  still  that  I  should  have  thought 
nothing  could  come  in  or  go  out  without  my  being  con 
scious  of  a  stir.  However,  the  absolute  hush  continued, 
until  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  must  have  been  singing  a 


ORDERS.  359 

great  while,  and  I  half  turned  and  glanced  down  the 
room.  My  singing  was  done ;  for  there  stood  Dr.  Sand- 
ford,  as  still  as  I  had  been,  with  folded  arms  near  the 
door.  I  went  towards  him  immediately. 

'  Do  you  have  this  sort  of  concert  most  evenings  ?'  he 
inquired  as  he  took  my  hand. 

'Always,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

'I  never  heard  you  sing  so  well  anywhere  else/  he 
remarked. 

*  I  never  had  such  an  audience.  But  now,  you  remem 
ber  my  request  this  morning,  Dr.  Sandford  ?' 

'  I  never  forget  your  requests/  he  said  gravely.  And 
we  went  to  business. 

From  one  to  another,  from  one  to  another.  Generally 
with  no  more  but  a  pleasant  or  a  kind  word  from  the 
doctor  to  the  patient ;  but  two  or  three  times  the  doctor's 
hand  came  to  his  chin  for  a  moment,  before  such  a  word 
was  spoken.  It  did  not  in  those  cases  tell  me  much.  I 
had  known,  or  guessed,  the  truth  of  them  before.  I  sup 
pose  every  good  nurse  must  get  a  power  or  faculty  of 
reading  symptoms  and  seeing  the  state  of  the  patient,  both 
actual  and  probable.  I  wa's  not  shocked  nor  startled. 
But  the  shock  and  the  start  were  all  the  greater,  when 
pausing  before  the  one  cot  which  held  what  I  cared  for 
in  this  world,  the  doctor's  fingers  were  thrust  suddenly 
through  his  thick  auburn  hair.  He  went  on  immediately 
with  the  due  attention  to  Mr,  Thorold's  wounds ;  and  I 
waited  and  stood  by,  with  no  outward  sign,  I  think,  of 
the  death  at  my  heart.  Even  through  all  the  round,  I 
kept  my  place  by  Dr.  Sandford's  side,  doing  whatever 
was  wanted  of  me,  attending,  at  least  in  outward  guise, 
to  what  was  going  on.  So  one  can  do,  while  the  whole 
soul  and  life  are  concentrated  on  some  point  unconnected 
with  it  all,  outside  of  it  all,  in  the  distance.  Towards 
that  point  I  slowly  made  my  way,  as  the  doctor  went 


360  DAISY. 

through  his  rounds ;  and  came  up  with  it  at  last  in  the 
little  retiring  room  which  he  called  his  own  and  where 
our  conversation  of  the  morning  had  been  held. 

'  I  see  how  little  I  know,  Dr.  Sandford,'  I  remarked. 

'  Ay  ?'  said  he.  '  I  had  been  thinking  rather  the  other 
way.' 

'  You  surprised  me  very  much — with  the  one  touch  of 
your  hair.' 

The  doctor  was  silent. 

1 1  should  have  thought — in  my  ignorance — several 
others  more  likely  to  have  called  for  it.' 

*  Thorold  is  the  only  one,'  said  the  doctor. 

'How  is  it?' 

'The  injuries  are  internal  and  complicated;  and  be 
yond  reach.' 

The  doctor  had  been  washing  his  hands,  and  I  was  now 
washing  mine ;  and  with  my  face  so  turned  away  from  him, 
I  went  on. 

1  He  does  not  seem  to  suffer  much.' 

'Doesn't  he?'  said  the  doctor. 

'Should  he?' 

'  He  should,  if  he  has  not  good  power  of  self-control. 
No  man  in  the  ward  suffers  as  he  does.  I  have  noticed, 
he  hides  it  well.' 

I  was  washing  my  hands.  I  remember  my  wringing 
the  water  from  them  ;  then  I  remember  no  more.  When 
I  knew  anything  again,  I  was  lying  on  an  old  sofa  that 
stood  in  the  doctor's  room,  and  he  was  putting  water  or 
brandy — I  hardly  know  what — on  my  face.  With  a  face 
of  his  own  that  was  pale,  I  saw  even  then,  without  seeing 
it,  as  it  bent  over  me.  He  was  speaking  my  name.  I 
struggled  for  breath  and  tried  to  raise  myself.  He  gently 
put  me  back. 

'  Lie  still,'  he  said.     '  Are  you  better?' 

'  I  am  quite  well,'  I  answered. 


ORDERS.  361 

He  gave  me  a  few  drops  of  something  to  swallow.  It 
revived  me.  I  sat  up  presently  on  the  sofa,  pushed  back 
the  hair  from  my  face,  and  thought  I  would  get  up  and 
be  as  though  nothing  had  been.  Dr.  Sandford's  hand 
followed  my  hasty  fingers  and  put  gently  away  from  my 
brow  the  hair  I  had  failed  to  stroke  into  order.  It  was 
an  unlucky  touch,  for  it  reached  more  than  my  hair  and 
my  brow.  I  turned  deadly  sick  again,  and  fell  back  into 
unconsciousness. 

When  a  second  time  I  recovered  sense,  I  kept  still  and 
waited  and  let  Dr.  Sandford  minister  to  me  as  he  thought 
best,  with  strong  waters  and  sweet  waters  and  ice  water ; 
until  he  saw  that  I  was  really  restored,  and  I  saw  that 
great  concern  was  sitting  upon  his  features. 

*  You  have  overtasked  yourself  at  last,'  he  said. 

*  Not  at  all,'  I  answered  quietly. 
'  You  must  do  no  more,  Daisy.' 

'  I  must  do  all  my  work,'  I  said.  And  I  sat  up  now  and 
put  my  feet  to  the  floor,  and  put  up  my  fallen-down  hair, 
taking  out  my  comb  and  twisting  up  the  hair  in  some 
semblance  of  its  wont. 

*  Your  work  here  is  done,'  said  the  doctor. 

I  finished  doing  up  my  hair  and  took  a  towel  and 
wiped  the  drops  of  water  and  brandy  from  my  face. 

'Daisy,  I  know  your  face,'  said  the  doctor  anxiously; 
'and  it  has  just  the  determined  gentleness  I  used  to  see 
at  ten  years  old.  But  you  would  yield  to  authority  then, 
and  you  must  now.  And  you  will.' 

*  When  it  is  properly  exerted,'  I  said.     '  But  it  is  not 
now,  Dr.  Sandford,  and  it  will  not  be.     I  am  perfectly 
well ;  and  I  am  going  to  do  my  work.' 

'You  fainted  just  now  from  very  exhaustion/ 
4 1  am  not  exhausted  at  all.     Nor  even  tired.     I  am 
perfectly  well.' 

'  I  never  knew  you  faint  before.' 

VOL.  II. — 31 


362  DAISY. 

'No,'  I  said.     'It  is  very  disagreeable/ 

'Disagreeable!'  said  the  doctor,  half  laughing,  though 
thoroughly  disturbed.  '  What  made  you  do  it,  then  ?' 

I  could  not  answer.  I  stood  still,  with  cheeks  I  sup 
pose  again  growing  so  white,  that  the  doctor  hastily 
approached  me  with  hartshorn.  But  I  put  it  away 
and  shook  my  head. 

'I  am  not  going  to  faint  again,  thank  you.' 

f  Daisy,  Daisy !'  said  the  doctor,  '  don't  you  know  that 
your  welfare  is  very  dear  to  me  ?' 

'  I  know  it,'  I  said.  '  I  know  you  are  like  a  good 
brother  to  me,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

'  I  am  not  like  a  brother  at  all !'  said  he.  '  Cannot 
you  see  that?' 

'  I  do  not  want  to  see  it,'  I  answered  sadly.  '  If  I  have 
not  a  brother  in  you,  I  have  nothing.' 

'  Why  ?'  he  asked  shortly. 

But  I  made  no  answer,  and  he  asked  no  more.  He 
looked  at  me,  made  a  step  towards  the  door,  turned  back, 
and  came  close  to  me,  speaking  in  a  husky  changed  tone, 

'You  shall  command  me,  Daisy,  as  you  have  long 
done.  Let  me  know  what  to  do  to  please  you.' 

He  went  away  then  and  left  me.  And  I  gathered  my 
strength  together  and  went  back  to  Mr.  Thorold. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

"HERE!" 

FROM  that  time  we  all  were,  to  all  seeming,  just  as  we 
had  been  before  that  day.  Dr.  Sandford  went  his  rounds, 
with  no  change  perceptible  in  his  manner  towards  any 
body,  or  towards  me.  I  think  I  was  not  different  in  the 
ward  from  what  I  had  been,  except  to  one  pair  of  eyes. 
The  duties  of  every  day  rolled  on  as  they  had  been  ac 
customed  to  do  ;  the  singing  of  every  night  was  just  as 
usual.  One  thing  was  a  little  changed.  I  sought  no 
longer  to  hide  that  Mr.  Thorold  was  something  to  me. 
The  time  for  that  was  past.  Of  the  few  broken  minutes 
that  remained  to  us,  he  should  lose  none,  nor  I,  by  un 
necessary  difficulty.  I  was  by  his  side  now,  all  I  could 
without  neglecting  those  who  also  needed  me.  And  we 
talked,  all  we  could,  with  his  strength  and  my  time.  I 
cared  not  now,  that  all  the  ward  should  see  and  know 
what  we  were  to  each  other. 

Mr.  Thorold  saw  a  change  in  me,  and  asked  the  reason. 
And  I  gave  it.  And  then  we  talked  no  more  of  our 
own  losses. 

'I  am  quite  ready  to  go,  Daisy,'  he  had  said  to  me, 
with  a  look  both  bright  and  sweet  which  it  breaks  my 
heart,  while  it  gladdens  me,  to  remember.  'You  will 
come  by  and  by,  and  I  shall  be  looking  for  you ;  and  I 
am  ready  now,  love.' 

After  that,  we  spoke  no  more  of  our  parting.     We 

363 


364  DAISY. 

talked  a  very  great  deal  of  other  things,  past  and  future ; 
talks,  that  it  seems  to  me  now  were  scarce  earthly,  for 
their  pure  high  beauty,  and  truth,  and  joy.  The  strength 
of  them  will  go  with  me  all  my  life.  Dr.  Sand  ford  let  us 
alone ;  ministered,  to  Mr.  Thorold  and  me,  all  he  could ; 
and  interfered  with  me  no  more.  Preston  took  an  oppor 
tunity  to  grumble;  but  that  was  soon  silenced,  for  I 
shewed  him  that  I  would  not  bear  it. 

And  the  days  in  the  hospital  sped  away.  I  do  not 
know  how ;  I  did  not  know  at  the  time.  Only  as  one 
lives  and  works  and  breathes  and  sleeps  in  the  presence 
of  a  single  thought,  enveloping  and  enfolding  everything 
else.  The  life  was  hardly  my  own  life ;  it  was  the  life 
of  another ;  or  rather  the  two  lives  were  for  the  time  so 
joined  that  they  were  almost  one.  In  a  sort  happy,  as 
long  as  it  was  so. 

But  I  knew  it  could  not  last;  and  the  utter  uncertainty 
when  it  would  end,  oppressed  me  fearfully.  Nothing  in 
Mr.  Thorold's  looks  or  manner  gave  me  any  help  to  judge 
about  it.  His  face  was  like  itself  always ;  his  eye  yet 
sometimes  flashed  and  sparkled  after  its  own  brilliant 
fashion,  as  gayly  and  freely  as  ever.  It  always  gave  me 
untold  pain ;  it  brought  life  and  death  into  such  close 
neighbourhood,  and  seemed  to  mock  at  the  necessity 
which  hung  over  us.  And  then,  if  Mr.  Thorold  saw  a 
shadow  come  over  my  brow,  he  would  give  me  such 
words  and  looks  of  comfort  and  help,  that  again  death 
was  half  swallowed  up  of  a  better  life,  before  the  time.  So 
the  days  went ;  and  Mr.  Thorold  said  I  grew  thin ;  and 
the  nurses  and  attendants  were  almost  reverentially  care 
ful  of  me ;  and  Dr.  Sandford  was  a  silent  servant  of  mine 
and  of  Mr.  Thorold's  too,  doing  all  that  was  possible  foi 
us  both.  And  Preston  was  fearfully  jealous  and  irritable ; 
and  wrote,  I  knew  long  afterwards,  to  my  mother ;  and 
my  mother  sent  me  orders  to  return  home  to  her  at  once 


"HERE!" 


365 


and  leave  everything ;  and  Dr.  Sandford  never  gave  me 
the  letters.  I  missed  nothing;  knew  nothing;  asked 
nothing ;  until  the  day  came  that  I  was  looking  for. 

It  came,  and  left  me.  I  had  done  all  I  had  to  do ;  all 
I  wanted  to  do ;  I  had  been  able  to  do  it  all.  Through 
the  hours  of  the  last  struggle,  no  hand  but  mine  had 
touched  him.  It  was  borne,  as  everything  else  had  been 
borne,  with  a  clear,  brave  uncomplainingness ;  his  eye 
was  still  bright  and  quiet  when  it  met  mine,  and  the 
smile  sweet  and  ready.  We  did  not  talk  much ;  we  had 
done  that  in  the  days  past ;  our  thoughts  were  known  to 
each  other ;  we  were  both  looking  now  to  the  time  of 
next  meeting.  But  his  head  lay  on  my  shoulder  at  the 
very  last,  and  his  hand  was  in  mine.  I  don't  think  I 
knew  when  the  moment  was ;  until  somebody  drew  him 
out  of  my  hands  and  placed  him  back  on  the  pillow.  It 
was  I  then  closed  the  eyes ;  and  then  I  laid  my  brow  for 
a  few  minutes  on  the  one  that  was  growing  cold,  for  the 
last  leave-taking.  Xobody  meddled  with  me ;  I  saw  and 
heard  nothing ;  and  indeed  when  I  stood  up  I  was  blind ; 
I  was  not  faint,  but  I  could  see  nothing.  Some  one 
took  my  hand,  I  felt,  and  drew  my  arm  through  his  and 
ted  me  away.  I  knew,  as  soon  as  my  hand  touched  his 
arm,  that  it  was  Dr.  Sandford. 

I  did  not  go  back  to  the  ward  that  day,  and  I  never 
went  back.  I  charged  Dr.  Sandford  with  all  my  remain 
ing  care,  and  he  accepted  the  charge.  No  illness  seized 
me,  but  my  heart  Mled.  That  was  worse.  Better  have 
been  sick.  Bodily  illness  is  easier  to  get  at. 

And  there  was  nobody  to  minister  to  mine.  Dr.  Sand- 
ford's  presence  worried  me,  somehow.  It  ought  not,  but 
it  did.  Mrs.  Sandford  was  kind,  and  of  course  helpless 
to  do  me  good.  I  think  the  doctor  saw  I  was  not  doing 
well,  nor  likely  to  be  better,  and  he  brought  me  on  to 
York,  to  my  mother. 
31  * 


366  DAISY. 

Mamma  understood  nothing  of  what  had  passed,  ex 
cept  what  Preston's  letter  had  told  her.  I  do  not  know 
how  much,  or  what,  it  was ;  and  I  did  not  care.  Mamma, 
however,  was  wrought  up  to  a  point  of  discomfort  quite 
beyond  the  usual  chronic  unrest  of  the  year  past.  She 
exclaimed  at  my  appearance ;  complained  of  my  change 
of  manner ;  inveighed  against  hospitals,  lady  nurses,  Dr 
Sandford,  the  war,  Yankees  and  Washington  air;  and 
declaimed  against  the  religion  which  did  not  make 
daughters  dutiful  and  attentive  to  their  mothers.  It  was 
true,  some  of  it ;  but  my  heart  was  dead,  for  the  time, 
and  powerless  to  heed.  I  heard,  and  did  not  feel.  I 
could  not  minister  to  my  mother's  happiness  now,  for 
I  had  no  spring  of  strength  in  my  own ;  and  ministry 
that  was  not  bright  and  winsome  did  not  content  her. 
Such  as  I  had  I  gave;  I  knew  it  was  poor,  and  she 
said  so. 

As  the  spring  drew  on,  and  days  grew  gentle,  and  soft 
weather  replaced  the  strong  brace  of  the  winter  frost,  my 
condition  of  health  became  more  and  more  unsatisfactory. 
My  mother  grew  seriously  uneasy  at  length  and  consulted 
Dr.  Sandford.  And  the  next  thing  was  Dr.  Sandford's 
appearance  at  our  hotel. 

'  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Daisy  ?'  he  asked,  very 
professionally.  Mamma  was  out  when  he  came. 

'  Nothing — '  I  answered;  *  except  what  will  take  its 
own  time.' 

'  Not  like  you,  that  answer,'  he  said. 

*  It  is  like  me  now,'  I  replied. 

*  We  must  get  back  to  a  better  condition.     It  is  not 
good  for  you  to  be  in  this  place.     Would  you  like  to  go 
into  quarters  near  Melbourne,  for  the  summer  ?' 

'Better  than  anything ! — if  you  could  .  manage  it. 
Mamma  would  not  like  it.' 

*  I  think  I  can  convince  her.' 


367 

Dr.  Sandford  I  knew  had  powers  of  convincing,  and  I 
judge  they  were  helped  on  this  occasion  by  facts  in  the 
pecuniary  state  of  our  affairs,  to  which  my  mother  could 
no  longer  quite  shut  her  eyes.  She  had  not  money  to  re 
main  where  she  was.  I  think  she  had  not  been  able, 
properly,  to  be  there,  for  a  good  while  past ;  though  the 
bills  were  paid  somehow.  But  now  her  resources  failed ; 
the  war  was  evidently  ending  disastrously  for  the  South  ; 
her  hopes  gave  way ;  and  she  agreed  to  let  Dr.  Sandford 
make  arrangements  for  our  going  into  the  country.  It 
was  very  bitter  to  her,  the  whole  draught  she  had  to 
swallow ;  and  the  very  fact  of  being  under  necessity.  Dr. 
Sandford  had  a  deal  of  trouble,  I  fancy,  to  find  any 
house  or  arrangement  that  would  content  her.  No  board 
was  procurable  that  could  be  endured  even  for  a  day. 
The  doctor  found  at  last,  and  hired,  and  put  in  order  for 
us,  a  small  cottage  on  the  way  between  Melbourne  and 
Crum  Elbow ;  and  there,  early  in  June,  mamma  and  I 
found  ourselves  established;  "Buried,"  she  said;  "shel 
tered,"  I  thought. 

'I  wish  I  was  dead,'  mamma  said  next  morning. 

'  Mamma — why  do  you  speak  so?  just  now.* 

1  There  is  no  sort  of  view  here — nothing  in  the  world 
but  those  grass  fields.' 

'  We  have  this  fine  elm  tree  over  the  house,  mamma, 
to  shade  us.  That  is  worth  a  great  deal.' 

'  If  the  windows  had  Italian  shades,  they  would  be 
better.  What  windows!  Who  do  you  suppose  lived 
here  before  us  ?' 

'  Mamma,  I  do-  think  it  is  very  comfortable/ 

'I  hope  you  will  shew  that  you  think  so,  then.  I 
have  had  no  comfort  in  you  for  a  long  time  past.' 

I  thought,  I  should  never  have  comfort  in  anybody 
any  more. 

*  What  has  changed  you  so  ?' 


368  DAISY. 

'  Changes  come  to  everybody,  I  suppose,  mamma,  DOW 
and  then.' 

'  Is  that  all  your  boasted  religion  is  good  for  ?' 

I  could  not  answer.  Was  it?  What  is  the  boat 
which  can  only  sail  in  smooth  water?  But  though 
feeling  reproached,  and  justly,  I  was  as  far  from  help  as 
ever.  Mamma  went  on — 

'You  used  to  be  always  bright — with  your  sort  of 
brightness  ;  there  was  not  much  brilliance  to  it ;  but  you 
had  a  kind  of  steady  cheerfulness  of  your  own,  from  a 
child.  What  has  become  of  it  ?' 

4  Mamma,  I  am  sorry  it  is  gone.  Perhaps  it  will  wake 
up  one  of  these  days/ 

'  I  shall  die  of  heartache  first.  It  would  be  the  easiest 
thing  I  could  do.  To  live  here,  is  to  die  a  long  death. 
I  feel  as  if  I  could  not  get  a  free  breath  now.' 

'  I  think,  mamma,  when  we  get  accustomed  to  the 
place,  we  shall  find  pleasantness  in  it.  It  is  a  world 
pleasanter  than  New  York.' 

'  No  it  is  not,'  said  mamma  vehemently ;  '  and  it  never 
will  be.  In  a  city,  you  can  cover  yourself  up,  as  it  were, 
and  half  hide  yourself  from  even  yourself;  in  such  a 
place  as  this,  there  is  not  a  line  in  your  lot  but  you  have 
leisure  to  trace  it  all  out ;  and  there  is  not  a  rough  place 
in  your  life  but  you  have  time  to  put  your  foot  on 
every  separate  inch  of  it.  Life  is  bare,  Daisy ;  in  a  city 
one  lives  faster,  and  one  is  in  a  crowd,  and  things  are 
covered  up  or  one  passes  them  over  somehow.  I  shall 
die  here!' 

'  Next  spring  you  can  have  Melbourne  again,  mamma, 
you  know.' 

But  mamma  burst  into  tears.  I  knew  not  how  to 
comfort. 

"  Would' st  thou  go  forth  to  bless?  be  sure  of  thine  own  ground  ; 
"  Fix  well  thy  centre  first ;  then  draw  thy  circle  round." 


"HERE!"  3(59 

I  was  silent,  while  mamma  wept. 
'I  wish  you  would  keep  Dr.  Sandford  from  coming 
here  !'  she  said  suddenly. 

*  I  see  his  curricle  at  the  gate  now,  mamma.' 

'  Then  I'll  go.  I  don't  want  to  see  him.  Do  give  him 
a  dismissal,  Daisy!' 

Our  only  faithful  kind  friend ;  how  could  I  ?  It  was 
not  possible  that  I  should  do  such  a  thing. 

*  How  is  all  here  ?'  said  the  doctor  coming  in. 

I  told  him,  as  well  as  usual — or  not  quite.  Mamma 
had  not  got  accustomed  to  the  change  yet. 

'And  Daisy?' 

'I  like  it.' 

The  doctor  took  an  ungratified  survey  of  my  coun 
tenance. 

'  Don't  you  want  to  see  some  of  your  old  friends  ?' 

'  Friends  ?— here  f     Who,  Dr.  Sandford  ?' 

'Old  Juanita  would  like  to  see  you.' 

'  Juanita !'  said  I.     '  Is  she  alive  ?' 

'  You  do  not  seem  very  glad  of  it.' 

I  was  not  glad  of  anything.     But  I  did  not  say  so. 

'  She  would  like  to  see  you.' 

'  I  suppose  she  would.' 

1  Do  you  not  incline  to  gratify  her  ?' 

'Did  you  tell  her  of  my  being  here,  Dr.  Sandford?' 

'It  was  a  very  natural  thing  to  do.  If  I  had  not, 
somebody  else  would.' 

'  I  will  go  over  to  see  her  some  time,'  I  said.  '  I  sup 
pose  it  is  not  too  far  for  me  to  walk.' 

'  It  is  not  too  far  for  you  to  ride,'  said  the  doctor.  '  I 
am  going  that  way  now.  Put  on  your  hat  and  come. 
The  air  will  be  good  for  you.' 

It  was  not  pleasant  to  go.  Nevertheless  I  yielded  and 
went.  I  knew  how  it  would  be:  Every  foot  of  the  way 
pain.  The  doctor  let  me  alone.  I  was  thankful  for 

y 


370  DAISY. 

that.  And  he  left  me  alone  at  Juanita's  cottage.  He 
drove  on,  and  I  walked  up  the  little  path  where  I  had 
first  gone  for  a  drink  of  water  almost  eleven  years  ago. 
Yet  eleven  years,  from  ten  to  twenty-one,  is  not  so  much, 
in  most  cases,  I  thought.  In  mine,  it  was  a  whole  life 
time,  and  the  end  of  a  life-time.  So  it  seemed. 

The  interview  with  my  old  nurse  was  not  satisfactory. 
Not  to  me,  and  I  think  not  to  her.  I  did  not  seem  to  her 
quite  the  same  Daisy  Randolph  she  had  known ;  indeed 
I  was  not  the  same.  Juanita  had  a  little  awe  of  me ;  and 
I  could  not  be  unreserved  and  remove  the  awe.  I  could 
not  tell  her  my  heart's  history ;  and  without  telling  it,  in 
part,  I  could  not  but  keep  at  a  distance  from  my  old 
friend.  Time  might  bring  something  out  of  our  inter 
course  ;  but  I  felt  that  this  first  sight  of  her  had  done 
me  no  good.  So  Dr.  Sandford  found  that  I  felt ;  for  he 
took  pains  to  know. 

Juanita  was  but  little  changed.  The  eleven  years  had 
just  touched  her.  She  was  more  wrinkled,  hardly  so  firm 
in  her  bearing,  not  quite  so  upright,  as  her  beautiful 
presence  used  to  be.  There  was  no  deeper  change.  The 
brow  was  as  peaceful  and  as  noble  as  ever.  I  thought, 
speculating  upon  it,  that  she  must  have  seen  storms,  too, 
in  her  life-time.  The  clouds  were  all  cleared  away,  long 
since.  Perhaps  it  will  be  so  with  me,  I  thought,  some 
day  ;  by  and  by. 

I  thought  Dr.  Sandford  would  be  discouraged  in  trying 
to  do  me  good  ;  however,  a  day  or  two  after  this  drive  I 
saw  his  horses  stopping  again  at  our  gate.  My  mother 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  impatience. 

'  Does  that  man  come  to  see  you  or  me,  Daisy  ?'  she 
asked. 

*  Mamma,  I  think  he  is  a  kind  friend  to  both  of  us/  I 
said. 

'  I  suppose  every  woman  has  a  tenderness  for  a  man 


"HERE!"  371 

that  is  enamoured  of  her,  if  he  is  ever  so  great  a  fool !' 
she  remarked. 

'Mamma! — nobody  ever  accused  Dr.  Sandford  before 
of  being  a  fool.' 

*  He  is  a  fool  to  look  at  you.     Do  get  a  little  wisdom 
into  his  head,  Daisy  !'     And  she  left  the  room  again  as 
the  doctor  entered  the  house. 

I  knew  he  and  I  understood  each  other ;  and  though 
he  might  be  a  fool  after  mamma's  reckoning,  I  had  a 
great  kindness  for  him.  So  I  met  him  with  frank  kind 
ness  now.  The  doctor  walked  about  the  room  a  while, 
talking  of  indifferent  things  ;  and  then  said  suddenly, 

'  Do  you  remember  old  Molly  Skelton  ?' 

'  Certainly.     What  of  her  ?' 

'  She  is  dying,  poor  creature/ 

1  Does  she  know  I  am  here  ?'    I  asked. 

'I  have  not  told  her.' 

*  Would  she  like  to  see  me,  do  you  think  ?'  I  said  with 
an  uneasy  consciousness  that  I  must  go,  whatever  the 
answer  were. 

'  If  she  can  recognize  you — I  presume  there  is  nobody 
else  she  would  so  like  to  see.  As  in  reason  there  ought 
not.' 

'  Can  you  take  me  there,  Dr.  Sandford  ?' 
'Not  at  this  hour;   I  am  going  another  way.     This 
afternoon  I  will  take  you,  if  you  will  go.     Will  you  go  ?' 
'  If  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  take  me/ 
'  I  will  come  for  you  then  at  four  o'clock.' 
That  ride  I  have  reason  to  remember.     It  was  a  fair 
June  afternoon,  though  the  month  was  almost  out  now ; 
the  peculiar  brilliance  which  distinguishes  June  shone 
through  the  air  and  sparkled  on  the  hills.     With  clear 
bright  outlines  the  Catskill  range  stretched  away  right 
and  left  before  us,  whenever  our  road  brought  us  in  view 
of  it ;  fulness  of  light  on  the  sunny  slopes,  soft  depth 


372  DAISY. 

of  shadow  on  the  others,  proclaiming  the  clear  purity  of 
the  atmosphere.  The  blue  of  the  sky,  the  fresh  sweetness 
of  the  air,  the  life  of  colour  in  the  fields  and  trees,  all  I 
suppose  made  their  appeal  at  the  doors  of  my  heart ;  for 
I  felt  the  pressure.  It  is  the  life  in  this  June  weather,  I 
think,  that  reproaches  what  in  us  is  not  life;  and  my 
spirit  was  dead.  Not  really,  but  practically;  and  the 
June  beauty  gave  me  pain.  I  was  out  of  harmony  with 
it.  And  I  heard  nature's  soft  whisper  of  reproof.  Justly 
given ;  for  when  one  is  out  of  harmony  with  nature, 
there  is  sure  to  be  some  want  of  harmony  with  the 
Author  of  nature.  The  doctor  drove  me  silently,  letting 
nature  and  me  have  it  out  together ;  till  we  came  to  the 
old  cottage  of  Molly  Skelton,  and  he  handed  me  from 
the  curricle.  Still  the  doctor  was  silent. 

He  stopped,  purposely  I  think,  to  speak  to  his  groom ; 
and  I  went  in  first.  The  rows  of  flowers  by  the  side  of 
the  walk  were  tangled  and  overgrown  and  a  thicket  of 
weeds ;  no  care  had  visited  them  for  many  a  day ;  but 
they  were  there  yet.  Molly  had  not  forgotten  her  old 
tastes.  I  went  on,  wondering  at  myself,  and  entered  the 
cottage.  The  sick  woman  lay  on  the  bed  there,  alone  and 
seemingly  asleep ;  I  turned  from  her  to  look  at  the  room. 
The  same  old  room  ;  little  different  from  what  it  used  to 
be ;  even  two  pots  with  geraniums  in  them  stood  on  the 
window-sill,  drooping  their  heads  for  want  of  water. 
Nobody  had  watered  them  for  so  long.  Clearly  Molly 
had  not  changed.  Was  it  only  I?  I  looked  and  won 
dered,  as  I  saw  myself  again  at  ten  years  old  in  that  very 
room.  Here  had  been  those  first  cups  of  tea ;  those 
first  lessons  in  A  B  C ;  and  other  lessons  in  the  beginnings 
of  a  higher  knowledge.  What  had  they  all  come  to? 
Was  Molly  the  better  in  anything  beyond  her  flowers? 
What  had  eleven  years  wrought  for  her? 

I  turned  again  from  the  past,  as  the  doctor  came  in, 


"HERE!"  373 

to  look  at  the  poor  creature  herself.  She  did  not  answer 
the  words  he  addressed  to  her ;  I  doubted  if  she  heard 
them ;  she  was  evidently  oppressed  with  disease,  which 
was  fast  making  an  end  of  her.  Experience  had  taught 
me  now  to  judge  somewhat  of  the  looks  and  condition 
of  sick  people.  Molly,  I  saw,  was  very  sick ;  and  I 
knew  soon  that  it  was  with  a  combination  of  evils,  which 
had  taken  hold  of  her,  and  made  her  poor  existence  a 
wearisome  thing.  It  was  near  an  end  now. 

'  Speak  to  her,' — said  the  doctor. 

And  I  did,  and  he  did;  but  we  got  no  response.  None 
in  words ;  I  fancied  that  the  look  of  the  face  bore  wit 
ness  to  some  aroused  attention  ;  might  it  be  more  ?  One 
hand  of  Molly's  lay  stretched  out  upon  the  coverlid. 
She  was  a  mass  of  disease ;  I  should  not  have  thought 
once  that  I  could  touch  that  hand ;  but  I  had  had  train 
ing  since  then.  I  put  my  hand  upon  that  poor  hand 
and  clasped  it.  I  fancied,  I  cannot  tell  why,  that  Molly 
was  sensible  of  my  action  and  that  she  liked  it ;  yet  she  did 
not  speak.  We  sat  so,  my  hand  in  hers,  or  hers  in  mine, 
and  Dr.  Sandford  watching  us.  Time  went  by.  I  hardly 
knew  how  it  went. 

'  How  long  will  you  stay  ?'  he  asked  at  length. 

f  I  cannot  leave  her  so,  Dr.  Sandford/ 

'You  cannot  stay  here!' 

4  Why  not?' 

'  It  would  be  a  peculiar  proceeding.  You  would  not 
doit?' 

'  I  cannot  do  otherwise,  Dr.  Sandford.  I  cannot  leave 
her  alone  in  this  condition.' 

'I  cannot  leave  you'  he  said. 

'  There  is  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,'  I  returned,  looking 
at  him.  '  And  something  may  need  to  be  done.' 

The  doctor's  look  in  answer  was  unguarded ;  it  ex 
pressed  so  much  that  he  did  not  generally  allow  himself 
VOL.  ii.— 32 


374  DAISY. 

to  express ,  it  was  full  of  tenderness,  of  reverence,  of  af 
fection.  Full  it  was  of  sorrow  too.  It  was  not  a  look  I 
could  meet.  I  turned  from  it  hastily ;  the  former  question 
was  let  drop ;  and  we  were  again  still  and  silent.  I  had 
enough  to  keep  me  silent,  and  Dr.  Sandford  was  as  mute. 
All  three  of  us  only  breathed  in  company,  for  a  long 
while  more;  though  I  suppose  some  of  Dr.  Sandford'a 
meditations  and  mine  came  near  together.  I  do  not 
know  how  time  went ;  but  then,  the  one  to  break  silence 
was  the  one  I  had  thought  might  never  speak  again. 
Suddenly  she  began  in  a  low  sort  of  crooning  voice,  say 
ing  over  and  over  the  same  words — 

'  I  am  in  the  valley — in  the  valley — in  the  valley — ' 

Maybe  half  a  dozen  times  she  repeated  these  words ; 
and  forlornly  true  as  they  seemed  of  her,  I  was  in  doubt 
whether  she  knew  of  what  she  was  speaking.  Could  in 
telligence  be  awake,  in  that  oppressed  condition  of  the 
bodily  powers?  Her  speech  was  a  sort  of  mumbling 
repetition.  But  then,  with  a  change  of  tone,  clean  and 
round  the  words  came  out — 

*  But  there's  light  in  the  valley ! — ' 

My  heart  sprang  with  such  an  impulse  of  joy  as  quite 
overleaped  all  my  own  sorrows  and  took  me  out  of  them. 
Then  Molly  had  not  forgotten ;  then  the  seed  sown  long 
ago  had  not  perished  in  the  ground  or  been  caught  away ; 
it  had  been  growing  and  springing  all  these  years ;  life 
had  sprung  up  in  the  ungenial  soil,  even  everlasting  life; . 
and  what  were  earth's  troubles  to  that  ?  One  vision  of 
unseen  things,  rushing  in,  made  small  all  the  things  that 
are  seen.  The  poor  old  cripple,  deformed  and  diseased, 
whose  days  must  have  been  long  a  burden  to  her,  was 
going  even  now  to  drop  the  slough  of  her  mortality  and 
to  take  on  her  the  robes  of  light  and  the  life  that  is  all 
glory.  What  if  my  own  life  were  barren  for  a  while ; 
then  comes  the  end !  What  if  I  must  be  alone  in  my 


"HERE!"  375 

journey  ;  I  may  do  the  Master's  work  all  the  way.  And 
this  is  his  work;  to  set  the  captive  free;  light  to  the 
blind ;  the  opening  of  the  prison  doors  to  them  that  are 
bound ;  riches  to  the  poor ;  yes,  life  to  the  dead.  If  I 
may  do  this  work,  shall  I  complain,  because  I  have  not 
the  helper  I  wanted ;  when  God  is  my  helper  ? 

I  waited  but  till  Dr.  Sandford  was  gone,  for  I  made 
him  go ;  and  then  I  knelt  down  by  Molly's  bedside, 
very,  very  humbled,  to  weep  out  my  confession  and 
prayer. 

Molly  slumbered  on,  wanting  nothing,  when  I  rose  to 
my  feet ;  and  I  went  to  the  cottage  door  and  sat  down  on  the 
step.  The  sun  was  going  to  set  in  glory  beyond  the  blue 
misty  line  of  the  mountains ;  the  June  evening  light  was 
falling,  in  freshness  and  sweetness,  on  every  leaf  and  blade 
of  grass ;  and  the  harmony  I  had  wanted  I  had  got  again. 
Molly's  words  had  made  the  first  rift  in  my  cloud ;  the 
first  sunshine  had  reached  me  that  I  had  seen  for  many 
a  long  day.  I  saw  it  at  last,  as  I  sat  in  the  cottage  door 
and  looked  at  the  glory  of  the  evening.  I  saw,  that 
although  my  life  might  be  in  shadow  for  most  of  its  way, 
yet  the  sunshine  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  cloud,  un 
changed,  and  I  should  come  out  into  it  in  due  time.  And 
others  were  in  its  full  rays  already ; — and  my  poor  Molly 
was  just  going  to  find  its  brightness.  Could  I  not  wait  a 
while? — just  for  myself? — and  meanwhile  do  my  blessed 
work? 

And  now,  in  the  hush  of  my  spirit,  nature  came  home 
to  me  with  her  messages.  The  sunbeams  laid  their 
promise  at  my  feet,  of  everlasting  joy ;  the  hills  told  me 
of  unchangeableness  and  strength,  and  reminded  me  of 
what  Mont  Pilatte  used  to  say.  The  air  breathed  balm, 
comfort,  the  earnest  of  gracious  supply;  the  beauty 
around  me  said  that  God  would  not  withhold  anything 
that  was  good  for  me.  I  could  trust  him ;  and  I  thanked 


376  DAISY. 

him  for  the  messages  of  his  creatures;  and  I  prayed  that 
I,  an  intelligent  living  creature  of  higher  order,  might 
live  to  carry  higher  messages,  for  him,  to  all  within  my 
reach.  I  gave  myself  to  do  his  will.  And  as  for  the 
comfort  of  my  life,  God  would  take  care  of  that,  and  be 
himself  my  portion  and  my  exceeding  great  reward. 

The  sun  went  down  behind  the  Catskill  leaving  the 
mountains  in  a  bath  of  glorified  mist ;  and  I,  strengthened 
and  comforted,  left  my  door-step  and  went  back  to  Molly. 
She  lay  as  she  had  lain,  in  what  I  might  have  supposed 
stupor ;  and  perhaps  it  was ;  but  she  had  said  there  was 
light  in  the  valley  she  was  going  through.  That  was 
enough.  She  might  speak  no  more;  and  in  effect  she 
never  did  intelligibly ;  it  did  not  matter.  My  heart  was 
full  of  songs  of  gladness  for  her ;  yes,  for  a  moment  I 
almost  stood  up  yonder,  among  the  harpers  harping  with 
their  harps.  Meanwhile  I  put  the  little  room  to  rights ; 
even  as  I  had  tried  to  do  when  I  was  a  little  child.  I 
succeeded  better  now ;  and  then  I  sat  down  to  wait ;  there 
seemed  nothing  more  to  be  done.  The  evening  shades 
closed  in ;  I  wondered  if  I  were  to  spend  the  night  alone 
with  the  dying  woman ;  but  I  was  not  afraid.  I  think  I 
have  done  with  fear  in  this  world.  Even  as  the  thought 
passed  me,  Dr.  Sandford  came  in. 

He  had  not  been  able  to  get  any  help,  and  he  came  to 
take  my  place,  that  I  might  go  home.  It  ended  in  our 
watching  the  night  through  together ;  for  of  course  I  would 
•not  leave  the  cottage.  It  was  a  night  of  strange  and 
new  peace  to  me;  peace  that  I  had  not  known  for  many 
months.  Molly  was  slowly  passing  away ;  not  seeming 
to  suffer  much,  needing  little  care ;  she  was  past  it ; 
and  Dr.  Sandford  bestowed  his  attention  upon  me.  He 
sent  for  refreshments ;  had  a  fire  built,  for  the  June  night 
was  chill ;  and  watched  me  and  waited  upon  me.  And 
I  let  him,  for  I  knew  it  gave  him  pleasure. 


"  HERE  !"  377 

'How  do  you  do?'  he  said  to  me  one  time  when  the 
night  was  far  spent. 

'  Why  do  you  ask  that,  Dr.  Sandford?' 

'  Must  you  know,  before  you  tell  me  ?' 

1  No,  not  at  all ;  I  was  only  curious,  because  I  know 
you  always  have  a  reason  for  your  questions.' 

'  Most  people  have,  I  believe.' 

'Yes,  curiosity;  but  it  is  knowledge,  not  ignorance, 
that  prompts  your  inquiries,  Dr.  Sandford.' 

He  smiled  at  that ;  one  of  the  pleasant  smiles  I  used 
to  know  so  well.  I  saw  them  rarely  now.  It  made  me 
a  little  sad,  for  I  knew  Dr.  Sandford's  life  had  suffered 
an  eclipse,  as  well  as  mine. 

'  I  have  not  so  much  knowledge  that  I  do  not  desire 
more,'  he  said. 

'  Yes,  I  know.     I  am  very  well,  thank  you.' 

'  You  were  not  very  well  when  I  brought  you  here.' 

'  No.     I  was  well  in  body.' 

'You  are  better?' 

'Yes.' 

'  If  it  were  not  impertinent,  I  would  like  to  ask  more.' 

'  It  is  not  impertinent.     You  may  ask.' 

'  In  pursuit  of  my  old  psychological  study,  you  know. 
What  has  happened  in  this  poor  little  place,  by  this  poor 
creature's  bedside,  to  do  any  good  to  Daisy  Randolph  ?' 

Now  it  was  not  according  to  my  nature  to  like  to  tell 
him.  But  what  had  I  just  been  asking,  but  that  I  might 
carry  messages?  So  I  spoke,  slowly. 

'  This  poor  creature  is  just  going  to  step  out  of  this 
poor  place,  into  glory.  The  light  of  that  glory  is  shin 
ing  around  her  now,  for  she  said  so.  You  heard  her.' 

'  Yes,'  said  the  doctor.     '  Well  ?' 

'Well,  Dr.  Sandford,  it  reminded  me  how  near  the 
glory  is,  and  how  little  this  world's  things  are  in  face  of 
it.  I  have  remembered  that  I  am  a  servant  of  the  King 

32  « 


378 


DAISY. 


of  that  land,  and  an  heir  of  the  glory;  and  that  he 
loves  me  now,  and  has  given  me  work  to  do  for  him,  and 
when  the  work  is  done  will  take  me  home.  And  I  am 
content/ 

'  What  "  work"  are  you  going  to  do  ?'  the  doctor  asked 
rather  growlingly. 

1 1  do  not  know.     What  he  gives  me.' 

And  even  as  I  spoke,  there  was  a  rush  of  tears  to  my 
eyes,  with  the  thought  that  I  must  do  my  work  alone ;  but 
I  was  content,  nevertheless.  Dr.  Sandford  was  not.  His 
fingers  worked  restlessly  among  the  thick  locks  of  his 
hair ;  as  if  he  were  busy  with  a  thicket  of  thoughts  as 
well ;  but  he  said  nothing  more. 

Towards  morning  Molly  passed  away  from  the  scene 
of  her  very  lonely  and  loveless  life  journey.  I  went  to  the 
door  again,  in  time  to  see  the  rays  of  the  morning  bright 
ening  the  blue  ridge  which  lay  clear  and  cool  over  against 
me. 

What  light  for  Molly  now !  And  what  new  light  for 
me. 

I  drove  home  through  that  new  light,  outward  and  in 
ward.  I  could  and  did  give  mamma  some  pleasure  at 
breakfast;  and  then  slept  a  quiet,  dreamless  sleep,  to 
make  up  for  my  loss  of  the  night  before. 

I  have  got  through  my  story  now,  I  think.  In  Molly's 
cottage,  life  started  anew  for  me,  on  a  new  basis.  Not 
my  own  special  gratification,  but  my  Lord's  will.  And 
I  seeking  that,  he  takes  care  of  the  other.  I  find  it  so. 
And  he  has  promised  that  everybody  shall  find  it  so. 
My  only  care  is  to  do  exactly  the  work  he  means  I  shall 
do.  It  is  not  so  easy  always  to  find  out  and  make  sure 
of  that.  I  would  like,  if  I  followed  my  liking,  I  would 
like  to  go  South  and  teach  in  the  Freed  men's  schools 
somewhere.  But  that  is  not  my  work  now,  for  mamma 
claims  me  here. 


"HEHE!"  379 

We  are  at  Melbourne  again.  As  soon  as  the  last  ten 
ant's  term  of  possession  was  expired,  Dr.  Sandford  had 
the  house  put  in  order  for  us,  and  mamma  and  I  moved 
in.  There  is  a  sort  of  pleasure  in  being  here,  in  the  old 
place ;  but  it  is  a  mingled  pleasure.  I  think  all  places 
are  pleasant  to  me  now.  Mamma  reigns  here  queen,  as 
of  old ;  for  Ransom  will  not  come  North,  and  leaves  all  in 
her  hand.  All  the  enjoyment,  that  is.  Dr.  Sandford 
manages  the  business.  I  do  not  know  how  long  this  will 
last ;  for  Ransom  may  marry,  and  in  that  case  he  may 
wish  to  live  in  the  place  himself,  and  mamma  and  I 
would  have  to  go ;  but  that  day  is  not  yet ;  and  the  blue 
mountains  across  the  river,  and  the  slopes  of  green  turf, 
and  the  clumps  and  groves  of  trees  which  stand  about  the 
house  and  adorn  the  grounds,  are  all  in  even  greater 
beauty  than  when  I  was  ten  years  old ;  and  I  enjoy  them 
even  more. 

Dr.  Sandford  takes  care  of  everything  that  mamma  can 
not  manage.  I  know  why  he  does  it ;  and  I  am  sorry. 
He  is  like  a  good  brother  to  me  and  I  am  very  fond  of 
him ;  he  is  coming  and  going  in  our  house  continually ; 
he  furthers  my  plans,  and  ministers  to  all  my  pleasure, 
and  looks  after  my  well-being,  somewhat  as  he  did  when 
I  was  ten  years  old ;  only  with  much  more  of  freedom 
and  acknowledged  affection  and  authority.  I  think  he 
fancies  that  time  will  befriend  him  and  bring  me  to  look 
upon  him  in  a  light  more  kindly  for  his  wishes.  He  is 
mistaken.  People  may  love  truly  and  love  again,  I  sup 
pose  ;  I  have  no  doubt  men  may ;  but  I  think  not  women. 
Not  true  women,  when  they  have  once  thoroughly  given 
their  hearts.  I  do  not  think  they  can  take  them  back  to 
give  again.  And  mine  is  Mr.  Thorold's. 

My  writing  all  this  has  been  a  great  comfort  to  me  and 
done  me  good.  Have  I  accomplished  what  I  said  at  the 
beginning  I  would  try  to  do, — follow  out  the  present  truth 


380  DAISY. 

of  my  life  to  the  possible  glory  ?  Surely  I  have  found  it. 
Through  sorrow  and  joy,  through  gain  and  loss,  yes,  and 
I  suppose  by  means  of  these,  I  have  come  to  know  that 
all  joy,  even  fulness  of  joy,  is  summed  up  in  being  wholly 
the  Lord's  child.  To  do  his  will,  and  to  be  filled  with 
the  happiness  that  he  can  give  and  he  alone,  that  is 
enough  for  anybody.  It  is  enough  for  me. 


TEE  END. 


. 


-eeer  v  o  330 

Y3  J3>ffl3a  .0  .U 


